Disenchanted
by L 0 K I
Summary: UPDATED! Jareth/Sarah. a dark tale of change and realization. romance, selfishness, friendship, violence, beauty...all those wonderful things!
1. La Torre

(A

(A.N.)--- as promised (to those who read "Twice Upon a Time"), here is my very first labyfic. in all its imperfect glory. chapter one may seem a little slow, but it picks up. 

and no, i didn't name Loki after me---i named him after the Norse "trickster" deity, as homage to one of the most fascinating personalities i have come across. 

Please review/comment! Thanks! ^_^

Title: **Disenchanted**

Author: **Loki**

Rating: R

Disclaimer: not mine. some of it, anyway.

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and if i'd the spell to claim your existence / your clandestine thoughts / your soul's soft persistence / i'd follow the mirror aglow with your image / your water-grave eyes and your lingering fragrance / but unknown by you lost in the shadows i Fade and Remain ~Faith and The Muse (Fade and Remain, Annwyn, Beneath the Waves)

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Chapter One: La Torre

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"You're a stupid girl, aren't you?"

Sarah's head shot up like a bolt; quickly she passed a look over everything surrounding her. Nothing. All seemed as it should be. The grass soft, the ceiling of swaying branches casting web-like shadows about her, the very air still as if enchanted. Had she heard that? It seemed to be more of a thought. . .a thought that breathed on its own. 

"_As it should be? What do *you* know of how things should be_?"

With that she rose to her feet, studying far beyond what she had first seen. But still. . . Still she saw nothing out of place. _Should I see something out of place? Have I not learned that things aren't always as they seem?_

"_Ah! Well, perhaps you do know something_!"

"Who are you?" she called out, her voice barely carrying above a whisper. _Where are you?_ She knew---she knew that any sensible soul would be terrified out of their wits, but she just . . . wasn't. What out there could really frighten her, a girl that had faced and defeated the Goblin King? _Was that real?_ It was real, she snapped at that part of her mind that refused to accept what had happened. The part that always wanted her to believe it was a dream and the world was really all that you could see before you. _It was real. Wasn't it?_

"_Do you really think you're *that* special of a girl? There are many more frightening things than the Goblin King_."

For some reason, Sarah disagreed. There was something much more frightening about the Goblin King than your average faerie tale monster. What he was . . . No, *who* he was.

"Who are you?" her voice rose once more, it being less of a question and more of a demand.

"My My! You *do* think you're that special." And it then became more distinct. It wasn't just a thought inside her head anymore, it wasn't just a mocking tone or an elusive laugh carried on the lazy breeze. It was something real, something she could now actually hear with her ears. She spun around, prepared for whatever sight that would greet her eyes. 

"Who . . . Who are you?" 

The boy looked up, his eyes clear and almost feral, but still innocent. There was something undeniably innocent about him. He was now resting in the exact spot she had been in moments before, and to her horror he was mindlessly thumbing through her notebook. 

"Hey! That's private!" She snatched it out of his hands in a way that could only be described as blind fury, seemingly forgetting this was no mere boy. But realization soon snaked its way into her eyes, and then fear. The creature before her only smiled softly. And then he shrugged as if he couldn't care any less about what 'private' meant to her. 

"Who---"

"Please!" he said. "If you should say that once more I shall lose my pleasant mood," and he looked as if he would vastly hate being forced to do such a thing. Sarah's mouth snapped shut, she hugged the slightly worn notebook tightly to her breast. Silence falling all around her.

"Better. Better." He then stood up, brushed dirt from his palms. She said nothing, waited. The gold eyes that fell on her didn't seem to notice.

"I have a gift for you," he spoke, holding his hand out to her. She stared at it inquiringly as between his index and thumb a card appeared. And then her gaze climbed to his, her narrowed eyes asking how much of a fool he took her for.

He laughed softly, waved the card at her as if giving a formal invitation. "It will not bite, nor will I demand your precious brother as payment. This is a gift from me, no harm will come to you because of it," he reassured her, that innocence becoming clearer in his feral eyes.

"What *will* it do?" she asked hesitantly, her notebook dropping to her side, her eyes curiously lighting on the supposed 'gift'.

"Nothing, if you will it. However, it can grant you some insight. But that, too, is only if you will it."

Nervously she reached out to it, touched one edge. Nothing happened. Slowly she took it from his hand, then brought it closer to study it. She had seen something like this before. A tarot card. Or, at least, she thought it was by the simple design on one side. The other side was utterly blank though. Light ran along the glossy edge, pooled.

"What is . . .?" Her eyes lifted to the boy only to discover that she was once again alone. She would have argued that it was only her imagination swelling again-if it wasn't for the card she still held. Looking it over once more proved it just as blank.

"Useless," she sighed, gathering her book bag and starting off in the general direction of her house. "Utterly useless."

Sarah's mind grew ever so tiresome with each step. She was concentrating on that 'gift', but her thoughts were miles ahead of her, and she was struggling to catch up, struggling to force them to obey her. Her eyes bored endlessly into the card, seemed to ask what it was, why it was. But the only conclusion she ever arrived at was the same mindless stalk.

She passed into her room blindly, still holding the card between her fingers. She was, in all actuality, lost in thought-that much was clear if one could interpret her face. She had passed through the streets, before the houses that lined them as if she were a zombie. Her walk home had been more like a dull habit.

She moved to her vanity and placed the card face down, so she couldn't see its blank side anymore and wonder why. Her book bag slipped to the floor, landing with an ungraceful * thump* at her feet. Vacantly she situated herself in the chair before her mirror, raised her occupied eyes to her reflection then visibly tensed.

"You!" she gasped, turning about. 

The boy smiled once again, appearing to be very comfortable on her bed. 

"It is *not* useless," he whispered.

"Name." She snapped, turning back around to face herself once more. "I will not listen to you until you give me a name."

He seemed completely amused by her shortness. He swept his platinum hair to one shoulder and grinned. "Loki," he said. "You must call me Loki."

A moment more and she waved his words away, appearing indifferent even as her hazel eyes never left his reflection. She could appraise his 'unearthly' beauty, but it only made her suspicious. It was her belief that the most beautiful flowers dripped with the most potent poison.

This wasn't such a shock; it didn't grip her throat so tightly as before. In the beginning there had been more---Appearing in her room, her dreams. Some appearing in a flurry of theatrical dazzle, others shyly announcing themselves. Over the years the numbers had dwindled. In fact, this was the first one in a long time, almost a year. He was no more impressive than the rest. She sat quietly in wait for the words that always came.

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*How did you do it? How did you beat the Goblin King at his own game?*

They never asked about how she made it through the Labyrinth; they didn't bother with words about the horrid Bog. As if defeating the King seemed such an impossible feat to them---The Labyrinth was a piece of cake!

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O yes, and then their promises and their gifts and their offers.

Did defeating a King automatically put you on the Underground's most eligible bachelorette list? She shook her head, seeming only to wish that all would disappear with the movement of her dark hair. Another glance proved just how a wish could only be a wish. At first she had been so flattered---and very much afraid of all the creatures that had come to 'speak' to her. But after awhile it became just plain annoying. The idea that this could possibly be the King's revenge had presented itself to her sometime ago. It was certainly an original type of torture.

"Why do you always refer to him as 'the King'?"

Sarah sighed, picked up her brush and started running it through her hair. Not because it was tangled, but because it gave her ultimately something to do . . .besides satisfy her 'guest' with her undivided attention.

"What do you want, Loki?" she replied indifferently, refusing to acknowledge his previous inquiry. "If you have come to offer me something than save your breath."

"I only offer knowledge. Something I dare say you are in desperate need of," there was a ripple of platinum as he raised soundlessly from the bed and moved to her side. She watched him closely, having decided that anyone who came bearing only knowledge was indeed a suspicious character. No matter that he looked to be only about fifteen. That meant nothing.

He rested a finger atop the card, directing her attention to it. "Seek an answer," he said, "But do not be surprised if what is said does not pertain to your questions. This will answer the questions you have here," that finger then moved to the spot above her heart, which jumped erratically as if an arc of electricity had coursed through his veins and into her. "The questions you may refuse to ask, even of yourself," he continued in a soft whisper, his mouth sliding into a small, aware smile. With nothing short of shaky annoyance she slapped his hand away, as if his very touch offended her.

"It's blank," she reminded him, distrust stitched into her very tone, she felt as if there was every reason for it.

With something like infinite patience reflected in his feral eyes, he shook his head, waved a hand at the card. "Seek an answer," he repeated, his smug tint not lost on her.

Sarah wondered a moment if it were too late to shove the card back into his hand. She glanced in the direction of her window, out into the tree that cradled the night between its branches, growing ever so weary of the situation. She huffed, snatched the card up and turned it over, prepared to present her guest with an 'I told you so'. Instead, she found herself staring at a very distinct image, her eyes tracing its lines without fully comprehending them. 

"Ah," Loki leaned over her, his shimmering hair brushing her shoulder. "The Tower."

And it was just as he said, a high tower---crumbling.

"What is this supposed to mean?" she whispered hastily, knowing only magic could have brought this about. In fact, she would stake her life that every fiber of that card was wrought with spells.

His smile softened out, as did the intensity of his eyes. He looked at her reflection as if he were seeing a child held captive in its silvery depths. "It explains itself. The Tower is made of stone, very resistant, but stone is not above decay."

She didn't believe a word of it, but still . . . something in her was suddenly terrified, shaken to its core. His gaze pulled at her, but she refused to raise her eyes to his, she was afraid her fear would spill out, and continue to spill.

"O, don't look so stricken," he laughed outright. He smoothed a hand over her hair, almost soothingly before he seemed to catch himself. "The Tower does not mean your world will end," he spoke with the same casual sympathy. "It only means that a change is nigh. There are no negative answers, only answers."

"This is all very well," she snapped, not liking the fear she had displayed only moments before. "But a gift of this sorts is not *just* a gift. Tell me why you have come to be here, Loki. And if you so much as offer me my dreams---I will toss you headfirst out my window!" she was breathing rather hard, she couldn't recall why.

His pitying smile melted away into seriously sharp features, the transition so quick that she didn't even see it happen.

"Since you insist on paying for my gift, then I will ask of you this . . ." he spoke warmly, but there was a sharp coldness edging it, as if he wished to cool the words as they passed his lips. He knelt down close to her ear, taking the card from her hand and laying it aside. There was fear in her suddenly, and excitement, the two deep-rooted emotions warred, their impact startling her. "Promise," he whispered, his voice lowering to the point of intimacy. "Promise that you will try to reach beyond the surface of the world. But far more importantly, try to see beyond your own surface . . ."

She froze as his breath passed over her ear, the words meaning almost nothing, all her focus was on that hand of his which was wound in her long, dark hair. He raised a tress to his lips and kissed it, smiled almost sleepily into the reflection of her startled eyes. 

"That is all," he straightened, and was gone.

She only sat quietly, glaring at herself before realizing that her reflection seemed to be just as annoyed as she was. With veiled movements she ran her fingers through her hair, as if to shake off any lingering remnants of his touch. Her jaded gaze then dropped to the beautifully drawn, yet somewhat disenchanting card. She studied it blankly a long moment then forced her eyes away, rose. Crossing the short distance from vanity to window, she let her weight fall against the glass, seeming to rest against it as if trying to draw comfort from it.

"I wish it would rain," she said aloud, but softly. "I would very much like to go outside and sit in the rain."

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There was glow of warmth residing just above her forehead, then a small, silvery laugh.

"Open your eyes, my pet," he said, " I know you are awake." 

Sarah blinked, glared up at the creature that was balancing beside her on the bed. "O," she mumbled, turning away from him and pulling the cover tighter around her. "It's you again."

He smiled brightly at the controlled indifference in her voice, shook his head. "You're a fine actress, Sarah," he whispered, moving to stroke her hair in an almost appraising way. She shot up and pushed his hand away, almost knocked him to the floor.

"Go away," she hissed, "I'm not interested."

Loki's hand returned to his lap, his golden eyes shining with unmistakable amusement. And then he grew somber, arms crossing over his breast. She stared at him, seemingly trying to will him away with her eyes alone. He continued to watch her warmly.

He took a breath. "My gift *was* just a gift. But I do have a proposal for you." The knowing annoyance flashed so quick in her eyes that he hurtled on, afraid she would begin to shriek and he would never be able to finish. "Actually, it's more of a favour that I would ask of you. Please, you don't have to agree, but I need your help."

She listened blindly to his words, her mouth a dreadful line. "My help? What could you possibly need of me?"

Loki grinned, his head tilting to the side, causing his silver hair to slip over one shoulder. "You're listening. Does that mean you might even consider what I will ask of you?"

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Not likely," she answered, "but you may ask." She rested back against the headboard, her refusal already resting on her lips. She didn't even know why she bothered listening.

"Because you heard it," he provided, "You heard the desperation in my voice, and it is real." He paused, seemed to address her humbly without visibly changing. She held her breath. "I *am* in need of your help."

"I wish you wouldn't do that," she sighed, her eyes dropping closed. Her hands knotted into the navy fabric of her cotton pajamas as she sank further into her bed, seemed to melt into the wooden frame itself. Part of her didn't comprehend the fact that she was no longer asleep.

"Habit, I suppose. But allow me to move on to my reason for being here---"

"By all means!" she laughed, without hint of any amusement. She watched him a moment as he stared at her, could almost feel herself growing smaller and smaller, could nearly feel his eyes weaving over a thousand thoughts. 

" . . . I need you to solve the Labyrinth again." He turned expectant gold eyes on her, seemingly in wait of a rain of hysterical fury, but she remained motionless, the only indication that she had heard him being the widening of her gaze. She glared at him in the dim moonlight that trickled in through the window as if he were a bear and she Goldilocks.

"Uh-uh!" she jumped from the bed, almost scrambling over him, the comforter falling away as if it were afraid to tangle about her. She huffed a moment, as if she were choking on the very air. "Out!" she snapped, struggling to keep her voice down. "Get out!"

He shook his head, remained on her bed with his hands folded neatly in his lamp. "You don't understand," he whispered soothingly. "You see, Jareth has my brother locked up in that castle, and he has it so I can't get in to him. But you can. I know you can get through it again."

Sarah hesitated, her breath softening out. "This is a trick," she accused quietly, as if her words were a personal wish. Her light voice fell heavy through the air. "Did," she continued in a strange whisper, "the King put you up to this?" 

Loki stood then, that innocence she had seen before shimmering in his eyes, and to her surprise they were of a pleading nature. His hands dropped on her shoulders, lightly---but in a way that said he was going to make her hear him out. "Please," he said, "I miss my brother and want him back." She stared up at him silently. "I know this is asking a lot, and there really isn't anything I can offer you that would aptly show how much I would appreciate your help. But, if it means anything to you, then I will be in your debt forever."

Something in her despised it, the desperation to his voice, it just didn't seem right that such a broken sound should come out of his mouth. Where was the creature that had mercilessly teased and mocked her this very afternoon? "What did your brother do?" she asked hesitantly. 

Loki paused, tried to figure out if it had been pity or carefully veiled sympathy he had heard worm its way into her voice. "Nothing," he said. "He wished himself away and nobody knew the better . . . does this mean you will help me?" His face was suddenly eager, she wasn't sure it was wise to believe a word he said. Beauty such as his had a purpose, usually that purpose was deceit or to distract---experience and reason whispered in her ear. But still . . .

"Fine," she stated, her arms going about her waist, "But you will accompany me."

"Jareth won't allow it," he replied, it sounding very odd because of the sharp edge of joy and appreciation mixing into it. 

"Then I suggest," she turned on the light and began rummaging through her closet, "that you find a way to come without him knowing. If you can appear and disappear at will then I am certain that this should not be so large a feat for you . . ."


	2. You Hate Me

Title: Disenchanted

Title: **Disenchanted**

Author: **Loki**

Rating: R

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in every dance no steps are placed and every path mistakes are made and if all paths lead but to the grave then let us dance along our way ~Faith and the Muse (Scars Flown Proud, Evidence of Heaven)

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Chapter Two (You Hate Me)

Sarah dreaded the moment the words left her mouth. It was because of that---because she remembered exactly how difficult the Labyrinth had been. There was so much to fear lurking within it, she told herself this over and again---all the while knowing deep down that her dread came, not from the fear of returning---but of not returning. She had been tempted to call on the Goblin King before, if only to prove to herself that it all had been real. But she could never even get the first words out. Her throat always closed, it didn't want the truth, only wanted to continue with the uncertainty. There was comfort in not knowing either way. If she had said those words and all remained as it was . . . she didn't think she could ever recover.

For a moment the words hung in the air, and everything was still.

And then *he* was there. She turned to the window to face him, keeping in her childish sigh of relief. It was real, and that eternally skeptical voice became silent, listening. This time there was no billow of cape, no flurry of tinkling chimes and sparkling glitter. Just him.

And he was more terrifying than her memory had painted.

"Sarah," he tsked, his voice wrapping around her like plush velvet, "Haven't you learned by now?"

She smiled, it being true despite the fact that she knew he was mocking her. "I guess I'm a glutton for punishment." She pulled her dark hair to one shoulder, stared at him nonchalantly. He almost smiled at that remark, she saw. And what was that? Disapproval? He looked upon her as if a child. For some reason it infuriated her. She expected his condescending air, but it wasn't mere arrogance on his part, it was that belief in his glittering eyes. That she was still only a child, a naughty and foolish one at that. What more had she expected? 'It's good to see you again, Sarah'? She huffed, crossing her arms over her breast. _You rejected him, you threw his offers right back in his face. Should he be glad to see you?_

"So, what dreams will you offer me this time?" She forced bitter indifference into her voice; she refused to give him the pleasure of trembling words. He smiled very small and a perfectly formed crystal orb materialized in his gloved hand. The moonlight struck its smooth surface, seemed to get caught in it. His other hand raised and the crystal began to weave and twist before her eyes. She couldn't keep from staring at it, the light dancing across her face as if reflecting off rippling water. And then it disappeared in a small shower of gold glitter. She blinked as his hands dropped. He laughed softly and something glinted in it, something small and hateful.

"You wished yourself away," his voice flattened out, its mocking tint the only colour left to it. "The rules change."

She stood quietly, adjusting and readjusting the strap of her book bag. His mismatched eyes flicked to it momentarily, then back to her carefully veiled face. "Then," her voice rose, her mouth forming around the words grimly, "what are the new rules?" Inside she was shuddering. She hadn't thought too far ahead, or that altering the words would ultimately alter the 'game'.

"Why did you wish yourself away, Sarah? Have you lost all interest in your life here?---" 

"It's not that," she snapped quickly, despising the fact that his words made some remote sense to her. Life is boring, she thought, but life was boring before I ran his stupid Labyrinth. It has nothing to do with him.

"O, is that so?" his eyes bored into her faithlessly. "When you woke up that morning it almost drove you insane, didn't it? Because you had changed so much---and the world was still the same. You resented it." His soft accent wove through his words, the hateful spark gone, or appearing so. 

"No," she stated. "Because I had changed, so did the world. I had new eyes for everything, making everything new," she watched suspiciously as he moved to the open window, its curtains only trembling slightly from the light breeze. The window had not been open before, but she decided that detail was unimportant. No, she had best keep her attention on the creature before her, not that she could divert her eyes or thoughts anyway. He gazed distantly without seeming to analyze distance, there being a nonchalance in his eyes that she hoped was mirrored in her own. He then turned back to her, shrugged. "But that wasn't enough, was it? You were not content."

Her glare touched upon him, narrowed, but then her shoulders slumped. "No," she let out on a quiet hiss of air, "I wasn't content." But, her mind whispered, you weren't content before. So it has nothing to do with him. *_Why do you keep saying that?_* "But that couldn't be helped," she added. "It has always been that way."

His eyes focused on her quietly, there being a lack of comprehension edging them like a thin silver thread. "And you chose this over . . . your dreams?" the disgust in his voice struck her, she reeled on her feet without moving. But the set of his mouth, there was an emotion laced on his mouth that was something like pity, but not.

"It was never a choice between my boring life and my dreams. It was Toby or Toby. You could never understand that."

"No," he growled suddenly, a flurry of breaking storms in his eyes, "It was you who never understood." He calmed in the same instant, his next words a drained whisper. "You still don't."

"Enough with the reunion," she snapped, his very presence pushing her to an edge she had never experienced before. She imagined that if she looked down she would fall forever. What a temptation, she thought wryly. "You never told me how the rules have changed."

His mouth twitched with laughter, and at that instant she felt frustration shoving its way through her veins. She could see herself walking up to him, the indignant surprise in his eyes as she wiped that look from his severely beautiful face. "Why so impatient," he questioned lightly, his voice addressing her as if he thought only of her as some form of entertainment. "Are you so eager to leave your world behind?"

"The sooner I get started, the sooner I can be done with it," she said.

One of his strangely arched eyebrows rose, he gazed at her incredulously. "You were very much aware of what you said, Sarah, but do you really know what you said?"

Her arms dropped to her side as she moved stiffly to her vanity. She was tired and she was tense, the reflection that greeted her wanted to know why waiting till morning had not been an option. She wanted to say something about things seeming less possible in the daylight, but she caught the haloed form of the King reflected in the dark mirror. And he was watching her attentively, waiting. O my, she thought, was I supposed to answer that? She snickered silently.

"I said, 'I wish the goblins would come and take me away, right now'." She glanced around, a small, almost obscure smile breaking on her lips. "So where are they?"

His eyes seemed to be intensified by the smooth surface of the mirror, his gaze not slipping. "I will have to do," was all he said. Sarah turned from the vanity, leaned back against it rather than trying to combat the pull of his eyes. It wasn't as graceful a turn as she would have hoped for as a result of the added weight of her book bag, but she managed to achieve the usual movements. 

"That is what you said," he tugged at one glove, much the same way he had done the first time she had seen him, "But when one wishes themselves away the words are never that simple."

She hadn't expected this, him to ask her why. In fact, she had forbidden herself to actually consider what would be said between them if ever they met again. And now she was understanding his questions, she was seeing exactly what he had heard when she had said those words. It was getting harder to keep her breathing to a pre-set rhythm.

"Not you," she whispered, her eyes studying something relatively close to the floor. Her gaze then raised as well as her voice. "I didn't wish for you," she said stoically. "I didn't"

He remained unchanged, his arms crossing lightly over his breast. "Do you know---I hear whenever my name is uttered, even Aboveground, even if only in a stray thought . . ." 

At that her chin rose in a measure of pure defiance, there being a triumphant sparkle to her voice. "If that is so then you also know that, in all four of the years since I *defeated* you, I have never once said---or even thought your name."

"And that is supposed to mean what to me?" he answered her smug tone. "That you have forgotten me, that you were never affected by me?" He paced nearer to her, his expression unreadable, but she imagined she saw something threatening swimming beneath the ice in his eyes. "True," he went on, "You never called to me, your voice never crossed over, not even in sleep, but that silence spoke much louder of your thoughts. I listened to that silence and I knew . . ."

"You knew what?" she breathed, all traces of triumph fleeing, but she still stood her ground. She had not come this far to back down now. In that same instant she erected a wall in her eyes against him, tried to convince herself that remaining behind that wall was, in no ways, 'hiding'.

He paused, amusement flashing in his eyes before they returned to their 'normal' glitter. He motioned at her book bag, her eyes following the graceful movement of his hand suspiciously. "I suppose you are ready to go now."

It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway, anything to force aside her wary apprehensions of the quickly approaching task. And then she ceased, her glare flying back up to him. "You will tell me the rules," she hissed, not appreciating the fact that he kept dodging (successfully) the subject. "Right Now!"

His eyebrows raised only slightly, but he seemed to be mocking her rather than truly harbouring any surprise. She stood quietly, the threat in her form apparent. "Simple," he said. "I grant your wish." He smirked, just a small twist of his mouth.

"My wish?"

"You asked to be taken away, so I will take you away."

"Take me where?" she questioned, knowing already that she would dread the answer simply by the expression on his face.

"Where else, but to my castle," he replied nonchalantly, once again moving to the window. Behind him Sarah's mouth fell open, her air of demand diminishing some. He seemed oblivious to the affect his words had aroused. She swallowed, forced control back into her movements. She stared down, her dark eyes brimming with thoughtfulness. "This is what he's offering me. So," she whispered to herself then lifted her chin to address him coldly, with a newly found strength. "What is my other choice?"

He glanced back at her, eyes drained of all light, the dark cloak shifting about him quietly. "Sarah," he sighed. "Don't fight me. This time you can't possibly win."

"If I remember correctly you practically said the same thing when I ran your Labyrinth. I defeated you then, I can do it now."

"This 'game' is different, Sarah, and I won't be there to protect you---"

"Protect me?!" she laughed, it being one of those odd sounds that bordered on exhaustion and madness. "I suppose you were also protecting me when you sent the cleaners after me!?"

He grinned then, his head tilting to the side and his pale hair catching a stray shaft of moonlight. "Fear tactic, my dear. You should have shown me more respect, a King does not like to be defied." 

Her laughter had faded away, leaving only the strangely calm look on her face. "So, what do I have to do?"

"I mean it, Sarah," his voice sharpened like a razor, its seriousness running along her skin. She almost believed it, almost believed that his voice alone could wound her if he wished. "The stakes are higher and if you do manage to win . . . winning may not be worth what you will lose along the way. Accept my offer. Even if it doesn't bring you happiness, at least you won't have to suffer this mind-numbing boredom anymore," he glanced around him as if he held contempt for the very floor beneath his boots. She absorbed his words, shook her head.

"Bravo," her hands rose, clasped before her. "I almost believed your concern. Let's not waste anymore of my time, hmm---"

"Don't do this," his words came like a soft whisper before a hurricane, "In this game the difference between winning and losing isn't always clear!"

"Stop it!" she growled fiercely, not liking how his tone inspired in her a willingness to heed his warnings, to forget her reasons for calling him. _That's exactly what he wants. He knows I can defeat him again._

"I have made up my mind," she added quietly.

"So be it." He was silent a moment, then, "We are here."

Sarah's eyes swept over her room, momentarily meeting with those of her reflection. 'What have you done?!" her mirror-self seemed to demand, but she held her breath. 'It had to be done,' she wanted to shout back. It didn't even have to pass her lips for her to know it was a lie. Her hands clenched once at her sides before she forced herself to relax, the irony not slipping past her. Her gaze focused once more on the creature that seemed misplaced amongst the treasures of her room, and somehow apart of them. The undistinguishable shadows appeared to bow to him. She felt a need to be enraged by such things, but didn't feel much more than that. She held her breath, forced it out. Didn't want him to think it was because of him. 'You breathed before, so it has nothing to do with him'. _Shut up!_

"We are where?"

His eyes fell lightly upon her, heavy still beyond the strange light that bounced off them. His gloved hand sliced through the air, waved her closer. She thought she saw him smile before he directed his attention back to her window and that unfathomable distance. The cut of his features denied such glimpses, which made them all the more real to her. After a moment of indecision she moved to his side, thought of how odd they must look standing together, framed by the softly moving curtains. Worlds collide, she mused silently, again.

"What do you see?" he whispered quietly, knowing full well that her eyes had never left him.

__

A double-edged knife---

Her glare at once fired and cooled as she turned to her window. She grasped the wooden frame, careful to not allow the movement to display what it was. Something was settling over her, and its movement unsettled her, like an invisible shroud had been dropped over her eyes. She blinked but nothing changed, the Labyrinth sprawled out before her. Light traced over the outer-walls, causing them to emerge with a gilded illumination. 

Her breath tangled in her throat, she couldn't help it, it took all her strength to keep her eyes from growing to take in all of the world that unfolded before her like some enchanted flower. And the geometrically impossible fortress rising at it's heart, pulling the eyes to it and keeping them there until it almost appeared as if the structure breathed or beckoned. She tore her gaze away, ignoring the sting of unwillingness that shot through her. 

"You told me," she whispered, each word climbing into a new level of heat and emotion, "That this was a new and different game! If that is so then why are we here again?!" She couldn't explain this anger she felt, it wasn't that she hated this place, or that she had never wanted to see it again. Truth be told she often wondered what she could and would do if there was no clock constantly looking over her shoulder and she were allowed to run unbidden through the glistening and deformed veins of that great maze. But something was different, and she could feel it humming in the air around her.

"Has . . . the Labyrinth changed somehow?" she asked hesitantly, her emotion dropping to a weaker form. Her eyes lighted on the King, denied the existence of an affected soul rooted in her.

He turned from the window, leaned back against the frame and gazed at her beneath seemingly heavy lashes. "Do you see my castle?" he asked, there being almost nothing in his voice, yet the sound still reaching and wrapping around her, momentarily hushing the unusual hum in the air.

Her eyes narrowed, but not with any form of contempt. "Of course," she waved in the direction of his castle, "It's where I left it." She paused, re-traced her words. "Is that it?" she glanced back out the window, seeming to ask the world before her. "Has the castle changed?"

He laughed softly, to her annoyance. "I find it a comfort that I exist in this world for you."

"Exist? In this world for me? But the Underground is *your* world, isn't it?" What if it's true, she thought frantically, what if this place exists only in my mind, and all my greatest memories and friends exist only there? "Ohh," she moaned, her eyes falling shut. Her fingers rose, knotted into the curtains tightly, turning a violent shade of white.

"The Underground is mine," he replied, his eyes donning a sudden look that she couldn't interpret. "But for the time being all this," he made no motion so she could only guess at what he was referring to, "belongs to you---"

"Me?" it was all she could manage to push out before her confusion over-took her. "But . . . but . . ."

"The Underground forces you to change to accommodate it, if you hadn't changed you would still be there now. But here . . . everything has changed for you, will change for you." With a slight motion he forced her to be silent before she even realized her lips had parted. "That is the trap," he finished.

"Okay," she breathed, "why do I get the impression we're not in Kansas anymore---"

"Kansas?"

"Never mind," she smiled slightly, despite the lack of clarity in her eyes, "Just an expression. So, if this isn't the Underground then where are we exactly?" _And why does it look like the Underground?_

"Do you know what I see out there?" he asked, his eyes and nothing more turning back to the window. Her head was moving from side to side before she realized she was answering him, she froze. His gaze fell on her, its heaviness surprising her. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all."

"Nothing!?" she gasped, "But it's *your* Labyrinth!"

He smirked, his eyes closing. "Yes, it is. But for now the Middleground is your world, it bows to your sight alone."

At that she stilled, the only thought breaking into her consciousness being a weak, silent question of why she hadn't noticed when the moonlight became gold, why she had already accepted and gotten over the fact before she had even realized it. "Middleground?" And then she laughed, continued to laugh until tears threatened to stain her flushed cheeks. "O my," she struggled to catch her breath, failed as her words came out strangled and tight. "How unique, how . . ." She felt tears rising again, and they weren't of laughter anymore. _How the hell?_

With a feeling that crawled along her spine she forced her tears back, choked them down until she felt they would fill her throat and silently drown her. Anything, she thought, I'll take anything over letting him see me cry! _I'll swallow an ocean first!_

The motions, her mind was working through the motions of how she was supposed to be feeling, all the words and hateful wishes came to her, but it was as if she were reciting lines for some play---no, there would be more feeling. Her voice in her own head was furious, but she felt no fury or hate. Just a comfortable numbness; she was comfortable with him because he was familiar to her. She was almost mentally clinging to his presence---because suddenly the Labyrinth before her . . . wasn't. 

She could see it now, exactly the same, but clearly not. It was the hum in the air, it being less of a noise and more of a vibration. One moment it was just a breath, too easily forgotten, the next it was a driving pulse at the back of her throat. And it made all the difference. 

"What is *that*?" she whispered, her occupied gaze seemingly being sucked into its pattern. 

"That is," he seemed to sigh, "the current that connects all three realms. We are, in fact, standing where our worlds meet."

Our, she wondered, that one word having an impact on her when she knew it shouldn't. She just couldn't imagine the Goblin King ever having to say 'our'. The fact that he *had* said it seemed less real to her than the sight so quietly reflected in her dark eyes. And then they widened. "I know this place," she gasped, "The Ball! You brought me here!" Anger, there should be anger peeking through those words, but she felt no anger. He laughed, it being such a soft sound that she almost couldn't bear it.

"I can understand why you have made that connection. But no, I didn't bring you here. The Ball was only one of many dreams that pass from this realm and into ours." She stared out over this Middleground as he spoke, tried to pick his words apart in hopes of finding that o so comfortable mocking glimmer, there was none. His words just *were*. "I simply caught it for you, Sarah. I brought you a small piece of the Middleground and an entire world formed at your will."

"So, what is this, the realm of dreams?"

"It has been called that, but don't assume that dreams are harmless." 

No, never that, she thought wryly, albeit sarcastically. "This place," he continued, "is as real as you and I."

He WAS concerned. She could feel his worry moving along her skin like cold, prickling fur. It wasn't such an unpleasant sensation, but she still couldn't help the shudder that passed through her. " . . . as real as you and I," her mouth sculpted around the words without granting life to them. And then she mentally shook herself out. "So, am I aiming for that star to the right, or your castle?"

He shook his head, and her eyes turned to him to take in the movement. "No," he said. "I do not know."

"You . . . don't . . . know," she whispered very low, almost breathed. "If you don't know then how am I supposed to know?!" He shook his head once more, it then falling back against the wall, his eyes closed as if he were vastly bored. Had he been concerned? She was doubtful again.

"The Middleground is yours, I cannot tell you where you should be going. Besides, this is not a quest. There is no screaming baby at that castle, I don't even know what is at that castle," he took a breath, "You are to seek out reality in this realm of dreams. Not what is real to you, but what is actually real. And when you can safely determine the two, then you have 'won'," he said the last bit as if it were an after-thought. "If you get tricked into believing the dream is real, then it will be. And you will never find your way back."

"Never?"

"Never."

"Never say never," she tried to smile. He only looked at her, for some reason she didn't believe he was too amused. With a quiet sigh she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans, forced her eyes away from him. "O Fine." She could read the danger of this place in his eyes, so she stopped reading them. It was hard to be brave when even a magical being, such as a Goblin King, was apprehensive. Perhaps if he had spelled out the very meaning of this game before he had set it in motion she would have re-thought her choice, she had been so impatient. But no, if he had thought for one moment that he could have broken her down with words he would have done it. He didn't want her here, that much she could determine. Would her choice have been different? Honestly? She didn't think so. "I don't suppose I have thirteen hours?"

He straightened without so much as acknowledging her presence. He glanced beyond her a moment then stalked closer, raised a hand. She did not flinch, remained as she was and stared up at him as that hand picked up a lock of her hair. He stared at it. "Thirteen hours, thirteen years. Time does not flow here. Time is irrelevant," he said, his face cleverly blank. But his eyes . . .when they finally turned to her she shuddered.

"Don't look at me like that!" she cried aloud, her eyes squeezing down tight as she shoved away from him. He gave no more than a couple inches, but she fell back against the wall, one of the curtains pinned behind her book bag. There hadn't been anything spectacular in his gaze, just words. And they were all whisperings of the future, studying her as if he never expected her to get back out of this realm. It was a good bye. Silent good byes were the worst to her because they meant there would always be that edge that would never be sanded down, that would always cut like a serrated knife when approached. Her mother had smiled at her quietly, sadly. Refused Sarah's arms when she had ran up to hug her. Then left. Just left. Sarah had never understood her 'good bye' until years later, until the only thing that ever came with the memory of her mother was pain. That same look was reflected in his eyes, she didn't want to see it. 

"Why do you act as if you will miss me? You hate me," she whispered so low, as if she wished the words would get carried away on the breeze and never reach his ears. For long moments he stood quietly where she had pushed him, and she thought that perhaps he hadn't heard her. But his cloak shifted once causing a soft rustle along the floor. He stepped closer, forcing her to look back up to him.

"Sarah, this is not the time or place for hatred," he spoke quietly. "I only want to look at you and remember the girl that defied me, that stood up to me. The one who not only defeated the Labyrinth, but forced it, and its creatures, to love her. If you get caught up in this world you have fashioned . . . I at least want to remember you as you are now."

Forced the Labyrinth to love her? Had she done that? Yes, she looked up at him and knew the answer. Yes. "Thank you," she whispered as one of his eyebrows raised. "Thank you, for wanting to remember me." It had, perhaps, been the truest sentence that had left her mouth. She knew if she lost, if she got caught in this world of dreams---her father, Karen . . . even Toby would forget her. The Sarah of earth would be no more. Her own mother had already forgotten her, and that was a hell in its own right. But the Labyrinth wouldn't forget her. *He* wouldn't forget her. It was a comfort. Nobody wanted to be forgotten completely. 

I'm ready to do this, she thought. I'm ready to face this.

"I don't have much of a choice," he smiled, it being warm and a touch teasing. She studied him, prayed that it wasn't simple pity that made him soften his words out. It wasn't, but she couldn't tell what it was. Almost a fondness, like one would have for a pet, but it wasn't that either. She suddenly realized how close he was, that he had moved closer. Her eyes widened as the dark leather of his glove slid against her chin, he was tipping her head back.

"What . . .are you doing?" she breathed, the sound barely passing her lips. But his smile widened, she felt the soft touch of his cape as it fluttered across her arm. 

"You owe me," he said, his gloved hand tracing a line from her jaw down to her shoulder. He didn't lean into her, left that misleading space between them, and laid his mouth lightly against hers. They stared at each other a moment, both of them taking a deep breath, both seemingly listening to the other's eyes. And then his lashes fluttered closed and the subtle brush of his lips moved, almost like the soft trace of a feather. He stepped back, let his hand drop from her shoulder and simply regarded her. "If you hadn't run away from me . . . that's how the dream would have ended."

__

And I would have given Toby up . . . for a kiss. Part of her failed to grasp how the life of one child out-weighed all her dreams, especially when it was their weight that was crushing her. But she forced herself to blink, forced herself to breathe. She stared at the creature before her, expecting to finally see triumph, but his face was unreadable. More frightening than an intricately carved mask. 

"You should go," he said, his voice almost dead to her ears. She hesitated a long moment then nodded. Adjusting the strap of her book bag once more, she stepped around him, dazed and only mildly relieved that he did not say exactly what that kiss was.

Good bye.


	3. Just A story

(A

(A.N.)---the story continues! ^_^ 

someone mentioned Jareth in one of the reviews? don't worry, he IS a central character (as if I could write a story without my favourite Goblin King!!! ^o^) 

thanks for the comments! Keep 'em coming! :)

__

and love sparks radiance/to guide the heart from within/all in search for you/eve of brilliance/till the morning proves indifference/for the sparks die/leaving shadows in my vision ~ Faith and the Muse (Sparks, Elyria)

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

****

Chapter Three: Just A Story

Sarah stood quietly a moment outside the house, staring up at it as if to tuck it into memory. _Stop thinking that way_. She hated to admit that she had been swayed by his warnings, that part of her was silently preparing for defeat. "I won't lose," she whispered to the looming structure, to the creature she wasn't sure was even there anymore. Her eyes climbed up to her window, noting only the slight movement of the curtains. If he was there still, she couldn't tell. Straightening her shoulders she started off down the dusty hill, her book bag bouncing against her hip.

"_Stop! STOP_!" came Loki's slightly shaken voice. Sarah looked surprised a moment then dropped her book bag to the dry, uneven ground. With a quiet hiss of metal she unzipped it, stared down, almost bemused, at the small head that suddenly appeared and glared up at her.

"What?" she exclaimed, "I don't have time for your riddles."

The rat's whiskers twitched, his grey-coloured fur ruffling slightly. "You demanded that I come, you can at least let me out now that he's gone." Sarah snickered, trying to hide it behind her hand. The thought that such a gorgeous voice was actually coming from a rodent sent her spinning. She scooped him up a little roughly and dumped him on her shoulder. He struggled a moment with several strands of her long ebony-brown hair, then finally settled. Zipping the bag up, she readjusted it on her opposite shoulder then continued.

"I guess having Hoggle here would be too much to ask?" She glanced along the outer-wall, never expecting to see anything more than flowers and faeries. She was still mildly disappointed when her prediction proved accurate. She approached one faerie in particular as it flitted along the wall. Not too close, but close enough to see the misleading innocence to its face. She smiled warmly as if to an old friend, whispered, "You won't fool me this time." She snatched it out of the air and flung it into a near-by fountain, her nose wrinkling as it thrashed in the stagnant water. It managed to drag itself out.

"Quit playing," Loki sighed, his whiskers tickling her neck. "How do you plan on getting in?"

Sarah studied the outer-wall one way, and then the other. "I . . . don't know," she answered truthfully. "Last time Hoggle showed me the way in, but I have to remember that this *isn't* the Labyrinth. I can't expect it to be the same."

"I've heard of the Middleground," he said, "But I never paid any attention to what I heard---"

"And what was that?"

"That it was just a story."

She laughed. For some reason his words were unbelievably amusing. With her laughter still ringing in her ears she began walking, trailing her hand along the wall looking for grooves and the such, anything that could be used as a way in. A few faeries flitted near her but she swatted them away as if they were flies. She stopped short a moment then grasped one of the vines and tugged on it, testing its strength.

"What are you doing?" Loki asked, a note of weariness entering his voice. She pulled the strap of the book bag over her head and onto her other shoulder, narrowly missing him. She then put a foot on the wall, her sneakers sliding some before she found her footing.

"I'm going to climb over the wall. I don't have time to look for an entrance that may no longer exist." She spoke matter-of-factly, started pulling herself up. Loki dug his claws into her white blouse, held on as she put one hand over the other and actually started to ascend the wall. 

"You're going to get us killed!" he hissed in her ear. 

"Shut up!" she cried, the effort she was making peaking in her voice. "It's your fault," she pulled herself up another half a foot then paused to catch her breath. "It's your fault I'm here. Your brother is *your* brother! I don't even know why I agreed to help!" _Yes, I do_. She glanced over her shoulder, back at her house. It stood like some imperfection amongst the magic of the Middleground, submerged in its quiet, inconsistent pulse. _I . . . was bored. Bored to the point of frustration. I've been looking for a reason to do something insane. _She turned back to the wall, took in a deep breath and began again. _Be careful what you wish_. She shook her head. 

Finally she maneuvered her body over the top of the wall, the vines pushing uncomfortably into her stomach and her book bag resting against her back. She lay still a moment, sucked in enough air to make it appear as if she had been drowning, then slowly forced herself to stand. She yelped as she nearly fell into something closely resembling a wall sheathed in the softness of velvet. Her eyes shot up into a pool of warm gold, laughing gold. 

"Damn it!" she squeaked, "You almost made me lose my balance!" Loki placed his hands on her shoulders, made a show of actually making sure she was steady.

"I wouldn't have let you fall," he promised without saying so. But Sarah was suddenly wary of that innocent smile stretched across his pale face. She didn't forget what beauty like his was capable of. Shaking him off, she stepped around him with nothing short of controlled annoyance. Her mouth thinning out as he quietly laughed at her, and it was enough to wrap herself in.

The walls were about two feet in width. Not enough for comfort, but Sarah traveled along them almost as if she were in her element. Loki followed quietly in suit, his silver hair beautifully unfurling about his shoulders. "Is this cheating?" he asked the seemingly impatient girl. She paused but did not turn to him.

"Where I come from it would certainly be considered cheating," she finally glanced back at him, her face carefully trained on occupied. "But I hardly think it is cheating here." She studied the wall across from her, judged its distance then leaped. She wavered a moment then steadied herself. Looked up to discover Loki once again at her side, she hadn't even seen him jump. She stared at him a long moment as he grinned at her, then decided that whatever magic he had used she wanted no part of. She wouldn't ask for his aid as long as she could help it. 

"If we keep at this we should reach the castle much quicker---"

"What's at the castle?" he cut in, appearing on the other wall then holding his hand out as if he meant to help her across. Her mouth snapped shut as she glared at him. She made it a point to avoid him as she leaped across. His hands still caught her, and part of her was glad that she didn't have to fight such a battle to keep her balance. The other part was snarling and promising homicide.

"I don't know," she finally answered. "I just have to get there."

"Do you think Jareth is there?" there was something in his voice, something knowing. Colour crept up her neck but she refused to blush for his enjoyment. So what if he had heard exactly what the Goblin King had said to her? It meant nothing. He basically had promised her she would lose. His words were borne from nothing but pity . . . She would show him.

"He said he exists in this world, or at least, something of him exists in this world. But I don't know if he's there. I don't know what is there." She stressed the last sentence, hopefully making it clear that she had no answers for him. She very nearly lost her footing, but his hand shot out and pulled her to safety. She opened her mouth to thank him, but his eyes were distant. As if he hadn't recognized that he had saved her from a very painful fall. She forced her words down, decided that she didn't want to thank him.

"But he also said this world was formed around you. Surely you have some control over it."

"Do I?" she whispered to herself on such a low note that hardly a sound pierced the air. "If that were so would I have made it so difficult to get in? Wouldn't the doors have just appeared simply because I wanted them to? I think if I do have any control over this realm---it is in a form that I do not recognize."

"Perhaps it will manifest the farther we go?" he offered quietly, all traces of amusement and innocence gone. In fact, his face was completely blank; a statue had more emotions edging its sharp features. Sarah was slightly unsettled. She couldn't tear her eyes away as they searched for a flicker of the creature she was getting used to having at her side. As if he read her thoughts he glanced at her and smiled, and like Galatea, life flooded the contours of his face. It should have set her at ease, but for some reason it frightened her even more. She peeled her gaze away from him and sought out her own jumbled thoughts, which were moving on without her attention.

She paused a moment on the edge of one wall, turned back to see how far they had come, and nearly fainted. "This . . . this can't be right!" she nearly shrieked. Loki appeared at her side and stared with her, an almost-smile playing along his mouth. They were standing on the outer-wall, her house glaring down at them from only a short distance away. "But we traveled so far," she moaned, her hand rising to her forehead as if she could make it all disappear by simply concentrating. Loki clicked his tongue to her side, his grin now apparent. 

"I guess it is considered cheating here too," he spoke with some small touch of amusement. Sarah spun around and glared with an intensity that ceased Loki's laughter before it erupted from his mouth. 

"If all you're going to do is laugh at me then you can go back to whatever hell you came from," she growled, the sound promising that she would make good any of the threats her eyes spoke. He sobered; the emotion on his face coming close to forced indifference. He then waved at what was before them.

"I suppose this means we *have* to run the maze. We cannot just skip to the castle . . ." he hesitated, "that may or may not be what we are looking for." His voice was beautiful, but it held no tone at all. However, an elusive heat edged it like silver on a cloud. 

Sarah stood utterly still a moment and forced inside a wail of rage, then dropped down, her feet dangling over the edge of the wall. With a silent prayer she closed her eyes and pushed herself off. She landed on the uneven ground with a tight yelp of pain, slowly eased herself to a standing position. Loki was once again at her side, but she hardly noticed as she took in all of what was before her. 

"O god," she nearly whimpered. She sank back down to the ground slowly, her eyes filling with the vision before her. The ground beneath her was soft with the plush caress of rich green grass, but she was all but oblivious to it. A butterfly hovered near her, its powder blue wings moving in an intricate dance, but she saw nothing. Loki followed its movement as it floated around her, then gave it not another thought as he reached down and attempted to bring her back to her feet. She was like a dead-weight in his hand, she refused to haul herself up, refused to even throw his hand away in her characteristic annoyance. She remained as she was, having the appearance of a rag doll. 

Loki held onto her hand, watched the butterfly dance around them once again, his gaze following it with its first tint of suspiciousness. Sarah's eyes blinked almost thoughtfully, she sought out the movements of the butterfly as if being drawn into comforting waters. It circled her, coming to rest on her hair silently, a pale blue jewel against the piceous tresses. Loki swatted at it, almost desperately, but Sarah caught his wrist and held it tightly, exciting a startled gasp from his lips. 

"You mustn't harm her," her voice rose coldly, awash with unfamiliarity. The butterfly's wings opened and closed, flashing in an almost timeless rhythm. Sarah nodded, her eyes occupied as if she were hearing something coming from far away, something soft and intimate. "You mustn't harm her," she said again, its demand dying down to a distant whisper.

Loki tried to pull his hand free but she held on, her eyes snapping to and falling on his face with an intensity that forced him to take a step back. "She is the Guardian of the Meadows." Sarah stood, still keeping his wrist captive within the grip of her tight fingers. She leaned into him, her mouth moving up close to his ear. 

"Greetings," she hissed, her fingers sliding away from his wrist. 

His surprise softened into warm amusement. His hands swept up over her arms lightly, the pale cloth moving under his touch. She laughed musically, just a twinkle in the air as she snuggled up against his breast, rubbing her cheek into the rich velvet. Loki stood still a moment then his fingers tightened on her shoulders. She let out a small indignant sound as he shoved her away.

"Get out of her." He growled very low, the threat flashing in his gold eyes. He glanced to the butterfly narrowly, his hand raising. As if in answer, Sarah stepped back.

"She is the Guardian of the Meadows," her voice rose, all humour drained away. "If you seek safe passage then you must not harm her."

Loki loosened up his approach, a misleading ease entering his body. "I will not harm her." He crossed his arms over his breast, started circling her as if to drink in every detail of her form. He then stopped abruptly, his lips curling into a smile that would inspire any modest soul to shudder. 

"Guardian." his voice caressed over that one word, like dirty secrets whispered into virgin ears. Sarah did not follow his movements, her head tilted to the side as if she were hearing some softly sweet melody. Her wide eyes finally turned to him, the butterfly appearing as a strangely dancing barrette in her hair.

"Yes?" she spoke, her whisper holding an edge of something warm, but not generous.

"May we have safe passage?"

"What will you sacrifice?"

Loki's head swung from side to side, his pale hair catching the fall of sunlight and reflecting it like a mirror. "You cannot have her."

Sarah smiled secretively, her white hands slipping around his neck in an expression of intent. "Then I will be content with the salt on your lips," she breathed, drawing him against the line of her body. In answer, Loki laughed softly, wrapping his arms about her waist and pulling her harder against him.

"If that is all you want" he leaned over her until his hair slipped around her face, its silky touch caressing over her cheeks. "Then by all means . . ."

Her grin widened, her tongue flicking out and running along his lower lip. She sighed, her head falling against his shoulder, her body curling into his side. "You may pass through my meadows," one finger traced along his collar. "You may go anywhere in my Meadows."

Loki's hand slipped under her chin, raised her head. "Thank you," he replied, his mouth finding hers again. She made a delighted noise deep in her throat then pressed her lips harder into his. The delicate butterfly stilled a moment, its wings stretched, and then it rose. Loki's eyes opened, he watched silently as it glided through the sky and away from them.

It took only a moment before Sarah's hands knotted into the velvet of Loki's shirt, then fiercely shoved him away. "What the hell are you doing?" she gasped, her hand swiping at her mouth nervously.

Loki's head tilted to the side. "Doing?" he addressed her sharpening glare. "Negotiating for our passage. The Guardian has given us her blessing---"

"And we achieved that by . . . this?" she growled, a flush trying to climb its way into her face. 

He chuckled, "Don't worry, my pet, you cannot seduce the seduced."

"I am not interested in you," she straightened, her eyes hardening into dark glittering stones. Loki shook his head.

"I know," he said, his voice heavy with implications. 

__

I won't ask him. He wants me to ask so I won't. Instead she bent to retrieve the book bag, which had fallen off her shoulder at some point, rummaged through it and came back up with a bottle of half-frozen water. After several hungry swallows she glanced up to the quietly waiting creature, who seemed immensely enchanted by what she was doing.

"What?"

He shook his head. Not a 'no'---more of a 'nothing'.

"Listen, there is nothing going in my mouth unless I know exactly where it came from," she exclaimed, passing the cool plastic bottle over her forehead and lightly along her cheek. "No drugged peaches for me," she said under her breath, then paused. 

"Thirsty?" She held the bottle out to him, condensation nearly causing it to slip through her cold, wet fingers. His head tilted to the side much like a curious puppy's. Sarah almost took back her offer. She wasn't afraid, there was just nothing human in his eyes.

And then he smiled very small, reaching out hesitantly and taking the bottle from her. His gold eyes studied it closely as he tilted it just enough for the sunlight to filter through it, the large lump of ice in it making the water appear cloudy. "Is this from Aboveground?"

Sarah didn't think it mattered, but she nodded. Watched him as if she expected something more from him. He nodded as well.

"Caution to the wind," he took a gulp, then another as if the first had not been enough. Sarah watched half-amazed as he shoved the water back into her hand, his expression carefully puzzled. "It's missing something," he whispered to himself but loud enough that she could hear it.

She shrugged, not bothering to ask for an explanation as she placed the water in its prior spot, between a bag of Skittles and a box of raisins. There was enough food and water to last her a couple days, as well as one change of clothing. She prayed to whatever gods would listen that she had thought of everything. _I will find out eventually_.

Pulling the strap of the book bag over her head so that it crossed her breast, she started forward. She refused to waste any more time with her surprise and anger. The Middleground was just as bad---no, worse than the Underground. And if it could change miles and miles of glittering wall into rolling green pastures and wildflowers, she could pretend that she didn't care. Besides, she had more important things to think about.

Like how thirsty she was.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

They had walked for a good two hours with nothing more threatening than a healthy dose of maddening silence. Small talk seemed against the rules so she shuffled along quietly, every so often noting a peculiar breed of wildflower. She paused, decided enough was enough as she bent to study a particular bloom closer. Loki knelt and caught her hand before she touched one of its copper petals. He raised it to his lips.

"In this realm," he murmured against the back of her hand, "A flower may not be just that." His eyes raised to hers warmly, intimately. She pulled her hand free with a low growl. 

"Why are you so damn touchy-feely?" 

He sat back on his heels and laughed. 

Sarah stood and crossed her arms over her breast, did all but snort her distaste. "If I get caught here then who's going to get your brother out?"

"As it is, I thought I was being rather helpful. May I ask you something?" he looked up to her as a curious child might, his eyes all lucidity and innocence. She chewed her lip a moment in deep thought, then nodded.

"Why are you such an ice-princess?"

Sarah closed her eyes with nothing short of annoyance as she stomped past him, his laughter following her as if carried on the wind itself. And then she froze, hardly noticed as he once again appeared effortlessly at her side. All laughter having died away the instant she had stopped.

"What?" he questioned hastily as he shot a glance around. It was as it had appeared to be before. Serene and warm, an enchanted meadow. But her pale hand rose, seemed to waver in the air.

"Don't you feel it?" she whispered, her eyes turning to him with something less than fear, but still tinted with remnants of it. He remained still for a long, puzzled moment then shook his head.

She shuddered inwardly, denying that it was her hair waving about her, strands of it passing across her shoulders and stroking her face. "There's no wind," she whispered. "Everything is moving . . . but there's not even so much as a breeze!" her hand dropped like a lead-weight. 

Loki smiled, took her hand and started pulling her back into their prior course. "I was beginning to wonder if I was the only one who had noticed that. I don't think it really matters. I'm more concerned with the fact that the castle seems to have moved closer . . ." 

Sarah's eyes snapped up as she stilled for the second time. The details of the castle were definitely more distinct; she tilted her head to the side and glared at it. Still so many miles away, but it did appear to be closer. 

"Let's not worry so much about things like the wind, my pet," he was drawing her back into motion and she was following gladly. There was a reason the wind did not blow, she wasn't sure she wanted to know that reason anymore. Loki seemed over-eager not to think about it. In fact, it seemed to inspire in him a new passion for reaching the castle. She didn't trust him, not at all, but she didn't want to be alone. Not in a place that even Jareth finds dangerous. At that, a dark shadow passed over them. Loki didn't appear to notice or care as he continued to lead her by the hand, but Sarah glanced up in time to see what looked like a snowy barn owl fly over-head.

"O god," she gasped, "I said his name, and now he's here. I haven't said his name in four years!" she pulled her hand free then practically lost her balance and landed in a startled heap. Loki was at her side almost as soon as she touched the ground. He attempted to help her up, but she shoved his hands away and pointed into the sky. His eyes finally turned, he watched the owl circle again blindly, his face not displaying if he recognized what he was seeing.

"Just remember," he said, his eyes following the bird unwaveringly. "Even if it is him . . . it's really not."

"Are you sure?" she allowed his hand to slip under her elbow, allowed him to help her to her feet. His hand lingered much too long, but she hardly noticed. She couldn't stop watching the barn owl. Part of her was ready to run if it so much as dipped towards the ground. Another part was fervently urging it to be him, to become him.

"I believe so," he said. It was all he really could say without lying. Sarah stepped back and his hand fell away instantly, slipped over her sleeve as if he had forgotten everything but what his eyes could see. If it was . . .the King, a part of her didn't want him to see Loki touching her. She was afraid to think about what that meant.

"What do we do? Do we just ignore him?" _Can I just ignore him?_

Loki shook his head, "What can we do? I don't think it's really him, otherwise he would be very . . .um, homicidal to discover that I am with you---"

"So you have seen him, face to face."

Loki nodded absently though she hadn't phrased her words as a question. "I went to him and I demanded that he return my brother. He laughed in my face." His profile shown in soft beauty under the sunlight, but there was nothing bitter to it, or his voice. Bitter words, Sarah thought, should be accompanied by a bitter voice. But he was continuing, his glittering eyes seeming to pool into molten gold. "The second time I came he warded his castle against me, I have been barred from approaching it completely. But I just couldn't leave my brother there. I couldn't."

"Are you certain your brother's still there? How do you know he hasn't been turned into a goblin?"

Attention suddenly filled Loki's features, his gaze sharpened onto her. But he was smiling, even if it did appear to be a little tired. "Jareth can't turn grown men into Goblins, only babies. There comes an age when the body fights such transformations, and the fight kills the body."

"So, his Highness isn't nearly as powerful as he claims to be." She had meant it as a simple observation, but amusement fell out and coiled around her ears, and undoubtedly around his. She cast an unwilling glance to the sky and the circling owl, half expected it to dive at her in indignation.

"Jareth can do much more than turn babies into goblins. Most men would prefer to be a goblin than face 'his Highness'---"

"You're afraid of him!"

"I'm not stupid."

It was so odd to hear him admit to fear, but she couldn't disagree. She harboured some amount of fear for . . .she couldn't do it again. She wouldn't say his name again. She had tested the waters and they had rose to swallow her. Fear had always been present with him, but she couldn't nurture it. Fear made her angry, and anger was her only savior.

"So, we continue and pretend we don't see his Highness circling over our heads like a vulture?" she remarked, her hands clasping with nonchalance behind her back. Loki said nothing, simply offered her his arm with muted warmth in his eyes.

Sarah regarded him a moment in silence then laced her arm through his. She kept her eyes away from the shadow that moved around them, every so often blending into their own. 

It was about midday when the meadows finally gave way to trees. The green pastures simply stopped at the foot of a dark wood, like a servant kneeling at the foot of its King. Sarah paused, uncertainty causing her eyes to dart from one mangled tree to the next. But Loki continued, tossing a smile over his shoulder that practically dared her to take another step. With a calming breath, which really didn't ease her weariness at all, she started forward, nearly having to run to catch up with him. 

"We have left the meadows and the blessings of their Guardian," he whispered to her as if she had never left his side. His fingers wrapped around her arm as he drew her nearer. "Stay close."

The darkness under the trees was primal and cool, Sarah watched as black leaves danced on a nonexistent wind, felt apprehension like a demon sitting on her breast. She did stay close to Loki, held onto his arm as if she expected him to disappear. The blackness around her breathed. She couldn't be sure of it, but shadows invited one to believe in so many painted monsters. The creature at her side moved as he did through the meadows, with ease and veiled appreciation in his eyes. But really, could she blame him? Monsters tended not to fear other monsters. But he feared the Goblin King---perhaps that statement wasn't completely true. And maybe the King was *that* terrifying. 

She shook her head minutely, aware that it was enough movement to grasp Loki's attention. With his eyes on her it was hard not to ask why he was so comfortable in this 'otherworld'. But, like so much else about him, she didn't really want to know. Perhaps knowing would lead to understanding, perhaps understanding would become compassion, and perhaps then she couldn't call him a monster anymore. And if he wasn't a monster, then maybe she wasn't exactly human either. _God, where are these thoughts coming from?!_

Loki grinned, the darkness under the trees doing nothing to mute the golden illumination of his eyes. His arm slipped up and around her waist like a snake coiling about its prey, and just as swiftly he pulled her in closer to him. 

She lifted on her toes just enough to put her mouth even with his ear. He leaned into it, seemingly eager to hear what she had to say. "Stay out of my mind." Sweet, low, and threatening. He didn't react the way she wished. He laughed as if she had finally said something interesting.

"Do not worry," he whispered, his voice too intimate for her tastes, "You are forbidden, so you are safe." His arm tightened, leaving her breathless. "Though, it is quite a shame . . ."

"Forbidden? What do you mean?" She pushed at him until his hold on her loosened, until she could walk on her own. But his arm remained lightly about her waist. He seemed to refuse to compromise on that.

"Forbidden, just as I said. There are those in the Underground who would love to enlist your help against Jareth, or simply jump at the thought of capturing what their King could not. He saw this. He watched them crossover to get to you. At first he said nothing, I think he was sore about losing his game and wanted to watch you squirm . . .But eventually he listed you---"

"Listed me?"

"Yes. There is a list in the Underground of all things forbidden, he added you to that list. Inhabitants of the Underground can no longer approach you---"

"All those . . .suitors . . .is that why they stopped coming?"

Loki nodded, moving aimlessly around the branches that reached from the trees and into their way. "Suitors? That is a good choice of words." 

"So," she cast her eyes to the shadows around her, neither seeing nor caring to. "So why did he list me?"

Loki shrugged, it being a unique trick with his arm still about her waist. "You belong to him."

Sarah stopped dead, but Loki continued on, his arm slipping from her as if it had always been so loose. She simply stood, her dark eyes as wide and round as surprise itself. Loki turned back to her, a smile curving over his lips quietly.

"You look so startled," he threw his head back and laughed, a sound that crawled down her spine and settled like a concrete weight in her stomach. Sarah's wide eyes narrowed with killing speed, if a look could have crushed a person Loki would have sunk into the leaf-littered ground. 

"So, you like playing games," she growled, her hands resting on her hips with nothing less than obvious threat. 

"I like playing games," he smirked, "But I never lie. You really do belong to him."

She stared at him and he stared back, amusement assaulting her searching eyes. "And I suppose he told you this himself?"

Loki nodded once more, the slightest of gestures as if any more movement would be too much on his part. "He told all of us, he told it to the entire Underground. But don't look so angry, he had to give some reason for forbidding you. To say it was out of kindness would never have been believed. But if you are his, no one would dare touch you."

"So . . .it's only for show. He doesn't really mean it."

Loki continued to smile, "Who's to say what he means? Shall we continue?" he bowed very low, waving her forward as if all was a game to him. She didn't know, maybe it was.


	4. Le Loup Roi

(A 

(A.N.)---just a warning, this story does not get any lighter than it is now. and in some areas it gets darker.

please review. i can't stress how motivating reviews/comments are! ^_^ let me know if you like it. let me know if you don't. just let me know!

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she sees creatures behind the glass/crying with a voice she heard once in a childhood dream/falling through a window she once shattered/clawing her face to escape wings that beat inside her head... ~ The Shroud (Long Ago and Far Away)

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Chapter Four: Lelouproi

Sarah's eyes snapped open. It happened so quickly that she wasn't quite certain if she had actually been asleep, or had simply blinked. A world had changed though. One of dim grey light had melted into something colder, something with shadowed edges that were still as sharp as a razor. She pushed herself up slowly, easing some pain that had seemingly seeped from the ground and settled into her very bones. And then she froze, her last breath rattling past her lips into a choked gasp. He was painfully distinct in the moonlight, its cold illumination pouring over him like silver water. Grudgingly, she stared. He was splendid haloed by the dark night, the trees like timeless black forms looming over and around them. His eyes moved over her calmly, as if he had been waiting for her to discover him, as if he had been waiting hours and was now trying to make certain that she was aware of him and it wasn't just a trick of light and shadow.

She was going to say something, she didn't know what, but she felt it rising up from somewhere inside her that was mythic and inconsistent. His hand raised, and just like that her mouth obeyed, the fluid movement being enough to cut her words off at the root.

"Your next words were going to be---'is this a dream'." He swept to her side, knelt before she had time to think or react. "Well, is it?"

She drew back, not from his words, but from his swiftness. He had all the grace of a predator, all the beauty, and the ability to unnerve her simply by moving. She shook her head, her long hair slipping smoothly over her shoulders. "I don't know," she whispered, her wide, dark eyes running over his face slowly, as if she were looking for a rip or flaw. She avoided his mismatched eyes until it became apparent, until her feelings of cowardice forced her to raise her gaze and jump into his.

He nodded, just a pale movement that stirred his gold hair. Patiently he took up her unwilling hand. "Go ahead," he urged quietly, laying her open palm along his cheek. "Do you know now?"

Sarah could feel the words as he said them, she could feel his jaw moving beneath the captured hand he was holding to his face. She shook her head numbly.

"It isn't so easy, is it," he said. "Sorting reality from what is real---they say this is the place where dreams come without sleep and sleep comes without dreams."

"If that is true then you are a dream."

He smiled, some secret humour in his glittering eyes. "Are you certain you are awake?"

"Of co . . ." her voice trailed into nothingness as she stared at him, appearing to not see him at all. "O god, I don't know."

Her hand slipped from his face almost limply as she rose. She traveled a few steps then stopped, turned back with vacant, thoughtful eyes. "If I am asleep and this is a dream . . .then this is real." Her logic was screaming 'What?!', but she pushed it away, almost harshly. There was nothing logical about logic when it came to the predicament she was in. "But," her hand raised to her forehead as if she feared it would fall apart. "If I'm really awake, then you're really a dream . . ."

"And now you begin to understand the Middleground," he stood, his arms crossing lightly over his breast. 

Her eyes climbed over him, stared past him into the cradling darkness of one tree. She didn't know what she was hoping to find there. Something, anything to chase away the new edge of doubt that was infecting her. "I don't understand anything," she whispered under her breath. "Nothing at all."

He shook his head, eyes closing softly over some glint she had not seen. "Not true. You understand how dangerous this realm is. That's really all you need to know."

Sarah had learned long ago the use of dwelling on things that could not be changed. That there was none. If he was a dream and real, or real and a dream---there was no way to know. At least, not yet. He seemed real enough, but if that was the case then she was having the most realistic dream of her life. The silence continued where she poured over the riddles of what he said, and he studied the thoughtful expressions that flew across her face. Neither truly noticed the other. But she did notice something---that Loki was gone. She tried not to look for him so obviously, just swung her eyes around as if searching for insight_. Wait---wait a minute! I must be asleep and dreaming! For . . ._ Her confusion only tangled more.

"Close your eyes, Sarah, and go back. There is something begging your attention," he said coolly, and she found herself obeying before she had time to think about it. Her eyes snapped opened, but it was already too late. He was gone.

"Am I awake now?" she whispered to herself, pushing away from the ground. Odd thing to ask, but she was serious. She didn't feel any different---only like she had closed her eyes for a second. She looked around and sighed with relief when she saw Loki curled comfortably upon the ground, his silver hair a silk spill of beauty. 

Something else, her moment of relief shattered as the familiar sensation washed over her. She searched about their makeshift camp frantically. There. Within the shadow of one tree she found a deeper darkness, and two points of light that were watching her carefully. She gasped; she couldn't help it. And as soon as the sound passed her lips Loki was there, awake and concerned.

"What is it?!"

His eyes swung to the deeper darkness as it stepped forward, giving black highlights of blue in the moonlight. The shadows peeled back piece by piece, showing first a pair of powerful paws, teeth, obsidian eyes, attentive ears. The wolf stopped conveniently, as if it knew exactly where the light and darkness met. Sarah had never seen a wolf in the wild, but she knew two things about them. ---Two things that made this chance meeting very peculiar--- One, it was alone while wolves, by nature, were very social creatures. And two, it had approached them. Unless starving or mad, a wolf would generally avoid people. Generally. Of course, this was the Middleground and she was swiftly coming to the conclusion that this was no general wolf.

It seemed that Loki had come to the same conclusion. He stood away from her and even backed up some. That was a surprise, but a bigger surprise came when the wolf raised a paw to its head and slipped the glossy ebony fur back. The 'wolf' fell away like a costume. Indeed, a tall man now stood in its place, with the empty fur loose in his hand. He smiled at her, pale and black eyes twinkling. Nude, but casual---no, natural. Sarah found her eyes falling over his newly exposed body before the different parts made sense. When they did she fought hiding her eyes behind her hands like some shocked schoolgirl.

"Do you seek safe passage?"

"Are you the Guardian of the Woods?" Loki answered. Sarah could very nearly feel the weight of their political dancing, but said nothing. She was still recovering from the 'realness' of his body and costume, if you chose to call it that. For sight's sake---he HAD been a wolf.

"The wolves are the Guardians of the Woods, and I am their King." He glanced to her when he said this, as if he had interest in her reaction. "Who are you?" Maybe he wasn't interested in her reaction after all.

She had to swallow twice to get it out---he _impressed_ her so. "Sarah," she paused, then decided a little courtesy couldn't hurt, "Your Majesty." His smile widened at that, and she felt his eyes imprinting her image with her name, just as she had done, but clearly not in the same context. Never one to stand well under scrutiny, she turned curious eyes to Loki and blushed.

"Your hair," the Wolf King said, "It is very beautiful."

Sarah still had not found an end to her confusion in this realm; she nodded politely and tried to smile. "Thank you." Loki was smiling too, but his seemed composed of less effort. Her purpose wriggled back into her thoughts, after having fled so quickly. "May we have safe passage?" _We've had our pleasantries---Please, please, I just want to get through this and get home_. 

The Wolf King flung the jet fur over his shoulder, casual like it was a coat, and made a wide ushering gesture with his free arm. There was a slight bow to his head. "How could I refuse such a lovely young lady . . . But certainly you realize the dangers of wandering around in the dark," he paused long enough to grin, flashing the delicately sharp canines of a wolf. "Join me at my court, indulge in our hospitality, and we will make sure no harm comes to you," he glanced to Loki as if an after-thought, "Or your companion."

She turned to Loki, face open and asking if this sounded trust-worthy and reasonable. What she was really praying for was an intervention. This---Lelouproi seemed so over-powering, his very aura reaching out and stroking against her own. It was as if the wolf was real and the man was the costume. She had very odd flashes on a certain Grimm faerie tale. 

Loki did not come to her rescue, only shrugged and mouthed the words 'your guess is as good as mine'. Sarah turned back with as much graciousness as she could scrape together, not failing to grasp the fragility of their situation. "We would be---very grateful, your Majesty." Grateful? She was thinking more along the lines of 'fearful'. She had no real reason to distrust the Wolf King's word, but it was difficult to place your faith in the hands of someone whose teeth were sharp enough to snap through your bones. She was determined to try if it got them out from under the shade of the black trees---if it got them any closer to the castle.

Without further ado Sarah fetched her book bag, wrapped her arm through the wolf's and followed him into the foliage, despite her unwillingness to be so near a man in such a severe state of undress. The only thing that kept her from darting was the dull sound of Loki's steps behind them. It, however, did not keep her breath from trying to speed on ahead of her. She found that if she focused on keeping each breath even some of the fear disappeared in her concentration. And every bit of it and then some returned when a lone cry spiraled up into the black sky. 

They had stopped within a clearing before a circle of felled trees, and the Wolf King was trying to lead her to the centre. Sarah might not have been so resistant if she didn't have to wade through at least two-dozen attentive wolves. She pressed closer to her escort as each one she passed inclined a nose or paw to her curiously. She looked back at Loki to find him not quite so unnerved. He moved through the sea of brushing fur with a straight back and disinterest in his eyes. The clenching of his jaw was the only thing that betrayed him. He caught her looking and smiled, raising his hand in some sort of salute. 

The moonlight was far more pure in the clearing---it gave her a more open view of the Wolf King. He was indeed as white as alabaster---eyes as black obsidian, and dark hair that fell to his chin in odd layers. It looked more like black fur than hair. He was beautiful, if one could not determine between 'exotic' and 'attractive'. He even looked wolfish, with an odd line to his face. Or maybe she was looking too hard. 

She snapped her eyes away when she realized she was staring and one of the nearest wolves let out an odd bark that sounded suspiciously like laughter. The ruddy colour climbed higher into her cheeks. This was all she needed---but she felt so tender amongst all those mouths full of sharp teeth. The Wolf King patted her hand reassuringly as it rested on his arm. It might have been reassuring if he wasn't a *Wolf King*---and naked to boot! 

"Don't pay attention to them. It's just been so long since we've had any guests," he said. She watched him wave a hand through the air and they all backed away, head lowered to the ground obediently. Their gaze still followed her with some emotion she had never seen in a human's eyes. She shivered. _Now wait a minute, I stood against the Goblin King and won . . .and he was certainly more intimidating than *this* king._ She straightened instantly under her comfortable arrogance. That's all it was, that's all he had become to her. A defense mechanism, a reason to be reckless and superior. But as the saying goes, if it works don't fix it. She had no delusions about how pathetic it really was. But when she was acting under its guidance she had no time to think about how much he affected her daily life. 

He sat her upon the largest of the uprooted trees, placed the book bag on the ground and took her hand between both of his. She, of course, noted the odd length and pointed sharpness of his fingernails, but smiled genteelly up into his mirthful eyes. 

"I'm afraid, your Majesty, that the morning will take me and my companion away, but we would be happy to keep your company until then." She paused to force a warm and hopeful edge to her voice. "If you would grant us safe passage through your grand Kingdom---we would be so grateful."

"And believe me, kind thoughts from one so lovely would indeed be a worthy price, but there is a small favour we must ask of you in return." The Wolf King's mouth curved just as arrogantly as her own, and the sharp angles of his face hinted at amusement. Sarah's skill in acting dictated her words and kept her expression schooled, though her breast was tightening with the thought of what the word 'favour' might translate into.

"Oh?" she turned to him as he sat down beside her. Her hand, still clasped in his, rested upon his bare knee. She was certain he had caught her shock at first seeing him, he was now trying to inspire it in her again. She didn't hesitate. Besides, she wasn't so ignorant that she didn't know the basics of a man's body. She was already over the fact---as long as she kept her eyes above his shoulders. "What favour, your Majesty?"

His smile reflected charmingly as he unwound his hands from hers. His then free hands raised and began combing the dark hair back from her face. He tilted his head as if he were trying to unravel some mystery. Sarah counted herself as a splendid actress, and she congratulated herself on the act she put up so far, but she could not help how she tensed under the intimacy of his attentions. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the wolves crowding closer, curiously, as if they had caught an odd scent on the air. She couldn't throw so much care to them. Their King's knees had brushed her own and reeled her thoughts back to him. 

And she did think about it actually, she placed both sides on a scale and attempted to stand unbiased between the two. He was attractive and---she tried to keep her eyes still---well proportioned. The press of the wolves almost pressed her into the idea, but she steeled herself. She wasn't a whore, no matter how pretty the penny---she would find other ways, or no way at all. She very definitely reached up and stilled his hands upon her, smiled. 

"I'm sorry, but I will not be apart of the bargain."

Oh, indeed, he seemed disappointed with her sweet words, but he sat back and took up her hand again, both. "A lady's wishes must be respected, though it is quite a shame." Sarah blinked as his grin came back to his odd face, the pointed teeth making him seem so much more threatening then the good humour in his eyes. "That was merely a suggestion."

"Then . . .what is the favour?" She was very calm as his hand raised again and swept up one of the locks of her ebony-brown hair. He presented it to her between long white fingers.

"My hair?" He nodded as her confusion fled into disbelief, her next words came out on a monotone wind. "You want my hair."

"It is of a glorious texture and length. It could suit so many."

She didn't know what he was talking about, nor did she really want to. She focused on her hair as it fell in rich waves about her face and down to her lower back. Her hair? The only thing that she felt was truly beautiful about her . . .could she give it up? _What a conceited little beast you are! It's only hair! It will grow back!_ "My hair for safe passage?"

He nodded once, eagerly, a sharp up and down movement. 

She nodded as well, took two handfuls of it and held it out to him as Loki's eyes widened. "It's yours."

The Wolf King immediately sat up straighter and motioned someone forward. It was just then that she realized all the wolves were gone. Her gaze passed between face after face of obsidian eyes. Their pale skin looked cold in the moonlight, though they showed no outer response to it. The only distinct way to know it was the wolves was the fur either laid out at their feet or in their hands. One of them stepped past her and out of the circle, he returned moments later with a blade the length of her forearm. It was of simple design, but that did not make it any less distressing. 

She fought trembling, she fought swallowing as she felt tress after tress of her hair being lifted and cut through. The blade was sharp, sharp enough that it required no 'sawing' or 'chopping'. The strands fell away so easily that it was over in what seemed like seconds. The man now held the knife in one hand and her hair in the other. At his King's nod he disappeared.

Sarah couldn't help it. She raised her hands and smoothed them down what was left of her impressive mane. It stopped at mid-cheek in somewhat pointed ends. She tried not to think about it, tried not to hear the voice that was crying 'My hair! My hair!' in alarmed tones. _Your hair or your body?_ The voice promptly shut up.

She was still musing blindly on her hair when the King stood up. Her eyes, which might have been a little wide, swung numbly up to him. They passed over his body in that one motion, but even that wasn't enough to break through. "Thank you for your sacrifice, my dear lady. And now that it has been finalized," he grasped her hand and urged her to stand, "Please do not leave tomorrow without a word of farewell first."

She quickly agreed, thinking it was over and wishing only to return to Loki's side. As odd as that seemed to her, but she was beginning to value his companionship more and more. In the light of other possible companions, that is. But the King squeezed her hand and led her out of the circle of trees. She glanced to Loki to make sure he was following, but her escort stopped her after a few steps and brought her attention back to him. 

"You must sleep now," he said softly, and as innocently as a Wolf King possibly could. Surprise fell over Sarah's face as several of the 'wolves' swept away in graceful rushes and reappeared with arms full of leaves. Leaves that they laid before her. Loki stepped up to her side with muted curiosity in his gold eyes, but the King looked to her as he said, "You may sleep here, if it is to your liking."

Sarah didn't want to go back to sleep and dream more dreams of reality. A reality where the Goblin King spoke in cryptic riddles and made her feel as if he cared about her outcome. She didn't want him to care---because if it wasn't real then she was going to slip into some emotion she could feel on the edge of her being, but couldn't understand. If she believed it . . .she wouldn't believe it. 

Loki placed her book bag down upon the bed of leaves, and her skin tinted at the thought of how she had forgotten it. His silver hair was no less bright in the dimmer moonlight that fell upon it. "We thank you for your hospitality, your Majesty," it was his turn to speak for the both of them. The leaves did not look inviting, but what could she expect from a King whose court was a circle of trees? Beside that, it was no worse than the ground he had woke her from. She still did NOT want to go back to sleep. 

The Wolf King hardly acknowledged Loki; his obsidian eyes seemed only for her. She summoned one of her cooler smiles and disengaged her hand from his. "This will do quite nicely, your Highness. Our sincerest thanks." And with that she moved to Loki's side. The Wolf King nodded then turned back to his own people. Sarah watched in amazement as they all slipped back into their costumes. They, too, seemed to be preparing for sleep.

"Is it done?" she asked of Loki after sitting down beside him in the leaves. He shrugged. "Can we trust him?" she whispered. He shrugged yet again.

"I believe so," he continued more vocally when it appeared she would fly into a mad rage.

"You believe so?"

"What do you want from me? I know only so much about this place. If I knew for certain I would tell you. But I am exhausted, Sarah, and I am willing to sleep under the chance of it being a lie. If you're not, then don't."

She blinked at his tone. It wasn't like him to be so serious that she fully believed every word. "Can I ask you a favour before you lie down?"

One eyebrow raised and he seemed genuinely interested. "A favour? Of me?" She almost took her words back, but he was going on. "Please do, whatever it is---I am certain it is the least of what I owe you."

"Is there," she swallowed back the little voice that told her she was being too dramatic and silly. That she was putting too much focus on something so trivial. But she didn't care. She had to at least try. "Is there anything you can do about my hair?"

He stared at her for a full minute before the laughter came. And then he choked it down to keep from grasping too much of the wolves' attention. He placed one elbow upon his knee and cradled his chin in his hand, eyes dancing upon her. "You are precious, do you know that?"

"Just forget it," she sighed.

"No no no! I mean it. Come here." She thought he was motioning her to him, but in his hand appeared a reflective piece of glass that flashed against the light of the moon. A mirror that he placed within her hands. He pushed his velvet sleeve back to reveal a leather knife sheathe.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, I thought I was going to do something about your hair. If that is all right with you?" 

She gave him long glances of speculation as he started combing his fingers through her hair, but did not pull back---Even when the knife glinted through it. She closed her eyes and did not think about what he was doing. She thought, instead, of how she was going to take a long hot bath when she got home. And how she was going to explain her hair to Karen. She decided she wasn't going to explain her hair to Karen. She was allowed to change, wasn't she? 

"There. All done." Loki was positioning her head so that she faced forward, twisting enough so he could see better. That meant he had rose to his knees and was leaning over her, she hadn't even noticed until he spoke.

"It looks horrible," she said to the dissatisfied reflection. 

"Nonsense," he snapped sharply, "it looks very stylish and modern." Modern meant short, stylish meant strange. Her dark hair hit about mid-cheek, falling all around her eyes. It was odd to feel the night air on her neck, to not feel its weight upon her shoulders. She had never realized how heavy it was until it was gone. 

And then a peculiar thought came to her, an odd thought---a thought she should never have spoken. "_He_ wouldn't like it."

Loki's head tilted to the side inquisitively, "You don't think so?"

The stirring of her hair awed her when she shook her head. It swung freely and whipped into her face. It would definitely take some getting used to.

"I think he would. It gives your neck a more graceful curve."

At that she made some very unbecoming noise through the purse of her lips. "Please, Loki. Just tell me it looks horrible and let's be done with it."

"Okay," he drew the word out as if it took much of his concentration, "It looks horrible." After that the silence became so dominant that the night seemed to deepen around them. The stillness of the non-existent wind became second nature, and even the wolves had gained some familiarity. But that silence was intrusive. It had to be stopped.

"Will every twist through this world have a Guardian?"

"Perhaps."

"They want something. Every one of them wants something. Salt, hair---Why? What use are these things?" She turned to watch Loki as he situated himself once more upon the leaves, his platinum hair layering into a thin pillow for his head. His gold eyes looked up to her and all innocence and feral tints were gone. He did seem tired. Maybe more than that, weak? 

"This isn't something to be asking me, Sarah. Jareth said the Middleground was shaped by your will. You made things the way they are, shouldn't the answers be in you?"

"But none of this looks familiar!"

He laughed shortly, so low that it quickly disappeared. "Oh my, we might as well make a home here. Because at this rate we'll never get out." He curled his hands beneathe his head and closed his eyes. She observed him as he tried to relax into sleep. It was never so easy for her.

__

Shaped by my will, but I can't recognize myself in it at all. But *he* said I wasn't wrong when I called it the realm of dreams, and dreams are often considered reflections of the subconscious. Unrealized fears, repressed desires---is this what the Middleground means to me? If that is the scale on which I measure everything . . .what does that say about me? The seemingly innocent butterfly, her touch was so cold. Her thoughts were so foreign. She wanted and wanted but didn't want to give any. The circling of the King, the vacancy of the wind, the costumed wolves and the shearing of my hair. Is there more that I just can't see? And why am I certain that what I want lies at that castle? Does it really? Is even the castle only an extension of some reality of mine that I've masked with dreams?

She tried curling upon the leaves as well, but the wonderings wouldn't leave her alone. They chased and chased each other into circles, until she began to question everything. Until she was certain that she was seeing ulterior meanings when there weren't any. Or maybe there were and she just wasn't seeing them. Or maybe. Or maybe. Or maybe.


	5. La Cour Du Serpent

(A 

(A.N.)---hi ya, hi ya! how's everybody doing? i've worked hard to get this next chapter out, so i hope everyone likes it. 

please leave a review/comment. this story continues as long as i receive feedback on it (wouldn't want to keep posting if nobody cares, ya know?). i don't know how to beg, but i can ask real nice. ^_^ sooooo, please? 

to answer the question about where i get the quotes...so far they have all been song lyrics from bands i adore. Faith and the Muse, The Shroud, and now Per Somnia---some of the lyrics seem apropos, in my opinion. ^_^ 

if blood makes you squeamish then you might want to prepare yourself...R rating in full swing here. well, maybe it's not that bad, but i tried. 

Thanks!

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you go in through the left side/but the sequence only multiplies/go up the ladder, down the slide/be careful when you take that ride/the sleepers all see through your eyes/the figures dance and pass again/so easy now to see their lies/you're through the looking glass again ~ Per Somnia (The Looking Glass, _Tea and Thalidomide_)

****

Chapter Five: La Cour Du Serpent

The ground was rocking beneathe her side. Rocking and squeaking, and hissing like rusted metal just waiting for its moment to give. At first there was nothing so unusual about that. She clawed her way out of the most unaware sleep and dazedly watched the scenery pass. She almost went back, almost sank back into the comforting arms of unconsciousness, but a face suddenly filled her own. She cried out, scrambled back against the wooden bars with her breast rising erratically. Loki stared at her without any amusement. Where everything else failed to register, that didn't. 

"What's wrong?" she breathed just a little shallowly. His eyes flung out farther than her then returned. She looked, noticing for the first time the movement of the ground and the wooden bars she was pressing herself against. They were in a wooden cage, upon an old cart with screaming wheels and gears. She couldn't remember going to sleep. She couldn't remember how they came to be here. Terror was squeezing the breath out of her yet again. "How . . .?" she gasped.

Loki raked a hand through his hair, looked coldly over the bleak terrain they were traversing. "They came with the light of dawn, cast a net of silver light over you and, no matter how I screamed," his eyes turned to her, devoid of all, "you wouldn't wake up."

"He lied!" she growled. She turned about and wrapped her fingers around the thick bars, pulled and pushed and pulled some more. All the while muttering, "I should have known better---he's a wolf for grief's sake!"

"It wasn't him," Loki stated in monotone. She paused, attention falling back on him. He was so distant; it was if the scenery had seeped into the fire of his voice.

" . . .Who was it?" she followed the path of his glare, past the bars and to a formation of guards escorting the cart. Goblins. Much bigger and fiercer than she remembered. They moved on oblivious to their cargo, weapons naked in their hands and over their shoulders.

Loki was speaking again. "You couldn't expect the Wolf King to fight for us, Sarah. You saw their numbers---they would have been slaughtered in the name of protecting us."

"No. I wasn't even thinking about that. Loki, those are goblins."

"More or less," he wasn't reaching the same conclusion that she was. That or he didn't count the significance as high as she did. She watched the hideous things, surprised that she could still recognize them for what they were. She recalled the goblins of the Labyrinth. Ugly and absent-minded, but there had been nothing truly frightening about them. These creatures were all teeth and claws, a predatory stalk to their body beneathe the rusted armor.

"The Goblin King?" She didn't have to say more. They looked to each other and for once they seemed to be on the same cliff, staring down at the same drop. If it was anything, it was an odd comfort. She was beginning to despise those bizarre bits of kinship towards him their situation kept inspiring. 

"The Middleground's Goblin King," he corrected, voice warming slightly as if he, too, had felt that queer pang. She knew he was trying to make everything less than it was. She wished she could tell him there was just no use. The real Goblin King frightened her in one way. This 'created' one frightened her in another direction. Neither was really pleasant, but she almost regretted her declination of his offer. Almost. 

__

Wait. "Wait," she snapped, so quickly that she thought she might have startled Loki. She crawled over to him and grasped his sleeve with a cry as the cart lurched once. She ignored the cackling of the goblins around her and pushed urgency to the surface of her eyes. "Do you have your knife?" she spoke so soft that it was hardly more than the movement of her lips.

He reflected surprise a moment, then swiftly sobered. "You can't be serious? Have you seen the claws on those things? The wolves were scared half to death!"

He was right, but she couldn't just wait until they were delivered into the Goblin King's hands. Something in the pit of her stomach told her that would be a very bad thing. She sat back against the bars and let her thoughts break with the ragged wheels over the uneven road. These goblins actually looked somewhat intelligent. That was a pity. Another idea came as she plucked at her wrinkled blouse. "Turn into the rat and these bars would be unable to hold you."

"They would still hold you."

"Leave me your knife and I will gladly go into the Goblin King's hands."

"No. I insisted on this little adventure and I'll see it to the end, thank you." If she hadn't known better she might have believed that was insult in his melodic voice. She might have believed the severity of his mouth. 

"Well, do you have any other options? Because I'm reaching the end of my rope."

He shook his head. Again, it wasn't an answer---it seemed a dreary winterland dream. Her breast ached. There appeared to be a hole at its centre that wanted to drink up everything. Because of him, because he had lost that dear and damnable way about him. She didn't pretend to know him at all, but she knew this chill infecting him wasn't right and natural. Half-wild and devil-may-care, his ways may not have been warm, but they were heated in some respects.

"That's it," she growled, "I'm getting out of here! And you're welcome to come, but I'm getting out of here NOW!" With that she jumped to her feet and would have done more, but one of the goblins screamed. It disappeared, or more, the dirt rushed up and swallowed it. Other goblins were running, this way and that in frantic gestures. Sarah watched as the earth sucked them down one by one until the cart stood on its own. It had only been seconds from the ringing of the first scream. Minutes stretched on and the silence deafened, she looked to Loki who was looking to her. They both backed quietly from the vulnerability of the bars and to the centre of their cage. She was trembling and she couldn't help it. The absence of the wind pressed the air around her, she grasped Loki's arm because he had suddenly become her safe-ground. 

"What was that?"

He didn't answer. He stared about nervously as if he expected her hushed words to call attention to them. He very gracefully shoved up his sleeve and unsheathed his blade, pushed it into her hands. "In case we get separated," no more had he said it then the cart pitched over, dirt and earth went rushing by into darkness. Sarah's scream cut off with the clamping of Loki's hand over her mouth. It seemed to force down the hysterics that were threatening her and she fell back against him in dizzy waves.

"Don't you dare faint," he hissed, his voice so low and harsh that she felt herself obeying. She pulled his hand away and took very deep breaths. There was some light filtering from above, nothing but enough to bring points of light to highly smooth surfaces. First it showed her the hilt of the blade laid neatly at her feet. Unfortunately, it also showed a prickling dance of what looked like scales, phosphorous and moving beyond the wooden bars. 

She didn't want to speak, but she had to know, "Do you see it?" 

"Better than you."

That got her attention. "And?"

He was shaking his head. Back and forth, back and forth. Silver hair falling around his face. She pushed away from him and tried to peer into the punctured darkness, eyes straining under the incessant chant of 'Adjust! ADJUST!'. 

Dim shadows peeled back from more solid forms, a picture began to form. A tail and a woman, a woman and a tail. A . . .woman with a tail. A cold sheen to the scales that coiled around and around and around, her naked torso warm tones in contrast to the reptilian. She had a tangle of hair that would make any bacchante envious, clawed fingers and two foreign pinpoints of light in her eyes. She was staring with an emotion that Sarah had never witnessed in her arguably 'sheltered' life. Patient apathy, a killer's instinct without qualms or guilt. 

The creature's head lowered to something in her hands, juices splattered---and Sarah had already imprinted the image in her mind before she realized what it was. The creature arced back and there was an odd wet sound of ripping, something snapped loose and hung thick and saturated from the woman-creature's mouth. A strip of flesh and torn muscle---Sarah started retching.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Loki's words came short and urgent, the cage rocked once as the creature's tail wrapped around it. It flung the goblin carcass aside and moved gracefully toward them, blood staining its mouth and bare torso. It was too late to stop, but the creature's advance broke through the illness of its sight. Sarah was gasping in terror as it started to circle around and around the cage. It looked innocently curious, with ragged chunks of blood and flesh beneathe its claws.

Loki's arm wrapped around her and she didn't fight it. She clung to him, that flicker of magic she knew was in him offering little comfort. If he could have, she knew he would have done something already. "What IS IT?"

"Vouivre. Of the Court of the Serpent," he glanced at her shortly, then back at the approaching flash of scales. "She's a Serpent Faerie," he added on a breath, as if he hadn't planned on saying it at all.

__

Whatever happened to sweet, innocent faeries? She did not expand on the thought. The vouivre was weaving like a snake, her foreign eyes moving studiously over them. Sarah had no particular fear of snakes, but she was beginning to rethink her position. The bounce of some light flashed on Loki's blade, Sarah's eyes snapped down and then she was moving, reaching for the little defense it would offer. 

"No, DON'T!" His words came too late. He had only the time to jerk her back before the vouivre struck the cage. Wood splintered and snapped, but some trick of fate kept one side half-intact and between them and the creature. Loki, seeing this, used his feet and the bend of his knees to push them out of the path of slashing claws. He was yelling at Sarah, telling her to run while it was distracted. Sarah, who had once thought she was the living embodiment of 'grace under fire', was just beginning to awake from her paralysis, awake to the song of Loki's screams and the dead silence of the Serpent Faerie. 

She didn't think about it, she simply acted. Shoved the blade up through the bars and connected with something solid. The vouivre reared back with a shriek, if tones could be measured in such ways---it would have been gelid, reptilian. Cold blood splattered across Sarah's face, and on Loki. But it wasn't even a momentary pause, both of them were up and moving. Sarah was thinking only of escape, something older than she was, older than any thing she could conjure telling her to run. 

There was no place to run to. The vouivre was already swinging back around, its tail lashing out with killing intent. Sarah had to dive just to avoid being thrown into one of the earthen walls. 

It was coming for her. 

There was a flash of silver as Loki launched himself at the Serpent Faerie, wrapped his hands around her throat and started squeezing. It writhed and fought, tore at his arms, but he held on, his face pressed against its back---and Sarah knew it wasn't enough. It was going to rip his arms literally away, or knock him back into a wall just to get free. 

She suddenly didn't want him to die. Of all she knew of him and thought---she actually liked him. Blame it on their situation, blame later, but she pushed herself up and immediately saw what she needed: a sword, one of the goblin's weapons. She realized she was wading through all kinds of gore to get to it, but it didn't matter. The need to survive had kicked in, and Loki had essentially become a key part of her survival in this realm. She pried the sword out of its former owner's hand and tried to lift it without thinking of how much it weighed. Her shoulders screamed with the effort, but she forced herself on. It was the only option she could see in her one-track state. 

The vouivre had not slowed or even weakened, it was royally pissed off. Sarah used the force of her hips and back to swing the sword, catching the vouivre across its middle and effectively 'gutting' it. Blood washed over her arms in cold waves, thicker things too---she didn't want to think about them. In her swing she threw the sword, it skittered several yards away and struck some former goblin's breastplate. 

There was an eternity where the creature's eyes widened, it stopped slashing at Loki's arms and pressed its claws to its own middle as if to keep its insides from spilling out. Even when it finally fell it didn't seem to understand that it was dying. Fluids gurgled up through its throat and out its mouth, a smaller pool in contrast upon the dirt and dismembered goblins. What seemed to take years was over in only a few seconds. 

Sarah was finally beginning to feel sick; it wasn't the gore that covered her from head to toe---that wasn't quite real yet. No, it was the way the creature continued to twitch---long after death's final blow had swept through it. She stumbled to Loki's side, but he was sitting up, staring at her oddly in the half-darkness.

"Are you all right?" she wheezed, reaching for him. Only then did she notice what was on her hands, and virtually every bit of her. She froze and her hands in mid-reach trembled. The shadowed horror on her face seemed to snap some spell in him. He grasped her hands and stood up, smiled sadly as she tried frantically to pull them free.

"It's okay," he whispered, "I'm dirty too." 'Dirty' wasn't the word for it, and they both knew it, but he was trying to turn her shock to him and not her sorry state. She laughed. Wildly, bitterly, it ended with the same stunned stare. Her spell wasn't going to snap so quickly. So he tried to pull her in against his breast, tried to smooth his hands down her cropped hair in comforting pressure. But she shoved away from him, coming to a numb stance. 

"We need to get out of here," she glanced around blindly. "We need weapons." 

He watched with widening eyes as she shifted through the carnage and brought out some sort of medieval axe. She tested its balance a moment, raised it, lowered it, raised it again. Then positioned it over her shoulder and turned to him. "Well?"

"Well?" It came out breathless; he wasn't understanding her words, or anything else for that matter. The shock was still clear in her, but now there was something so clinical and practical. It was as if part of her had simply shut down and another was dictating.

"Pick up a weapon," her coin-dead eyes swung about. "There," she pointed to the sword she had thrown, "That will work."

"Work for what?" he stressed. 

She didn't seem to be paying attention to him, set the axe against the cage's wooden remains and grasped the hilt of the sword with both hands, shoved it into his. He was only distantly aware of the blood that slid over his skin as his fingers wrapped around it, or the dull thud of its pointed end striking the black dirt. He was being sucked into the sound of her voice, filled with dread of every movement of her eyes. "For what . . .?"

"Protection." The axe was back, and she was looking one way and the next, as the dirt tunnel stretched in only two directions. Her glare rose, but only long enough to dismiss that path. Too far, no footholds. She started the way she was almost certain led toward the castle, stepping over the corpse of the vouivre like it didn't even exist. Loki could do nothing but follow, sword dragging behind him.


	6. The Sunny Garden

(A.N.)--- oooooookay. how many people are still with me? i know that this isn't the easiest story to keep up with, but...a million thanks to those still reading! ^_^

as always, let me know what you think! Feedback makes the fanfic world go 'round.

Thanks! ^_^

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We remember

the dance half-done

the kiss almost given

~ **_The Dance Half Done_**, Mary Ann Larkin

****

Chapter Six: The Sunny Garden

The tunnels did not narrow, they widened. Dirt crumbled from the ceiling and sometimes a deep rumbling came and resonated from above. Pinpoints of grey light occasionally fell to the bottom, like coins in the abyss of a wishing well. Beside themselves---they had found nothing alive. Miles of one path it seemed, but every now and again small galleries would open, littered with the bones and hooves of now indistinct animals, weapons and armor over strands of hair, teeth---Sarah never picked up more than the axe resting against her shoulder. She hardly appeared to see the old 'graveyards' as they wound through them. Closer to the first they had come upon one of the fresher feedings. Raw bones and skulls picked clean, a repugnant smell of new death and dark stains of blood. Loki had looked to her. Surely, surely the horror would break into her intent stalk, make her pause, make her shudder. But no, she continued as if passing through sunny gardens.

She only stopped when they came upon the white, spiraling stair. It rose through the dirt ceiling, up and up, ivory that looked silver in the swimming shadows. They had traveled for hours, maybe even a day, and here was the first possibility of escaping the late Serpent Faerie's court. Once she might have worried over it, over its near pristine state set against the filth and blood, but she barely glanced Loki's way before starting up. 

It seemed more hours crept in on lame legs. Time dragged by in such a way that one could believe that it was different below ground. There were no shifting lines of sun or shadow, stars or moon. Just the constant silence, the constant shuffle of their own feet. The stairs wound up and around, through eternity . . .certainly they weren't that far down? 

When it appeared they might climb forever, she thrust up with the axe and blinding light spilled in. She was the first to emerge into the sunlight. Through a familiar old jar---that should have been set with flowers in a garden---and onto warmed tile.

"We're back in the Labyrinth," he said hopefully. 

Sarah's still cold eyes, eyes like the depths of an ocean, moved over the greenery of the Shrub-maze. "We were never in the Labyrinth," was all she said.

They were both worse off in the revealing light. Shadowed edges of clothes were now clear bloodstains; ornaments of filth now adorned every part of them. Except Loki, who's hair still glowed as finely as polished threads spun out of silver. Sarah's blouse was now brown and black, ripped and stiff. 

"We should look for water." He picked the sword up so it wouldn't scrape against the stone. It was beginning to wear down on his already frayed nerves.

"Why?"

"To bathe, to drink, come on, Sarah!" he snapped. She only shrugged.

"As you wish. We will look for water." But they didn't find it. They turned corner after corner of the hedge-walls and all was the same as the path before. However, one thing came about. Sarah showed her first sign of life, small, meaningless. With a short growl masked by breath she raised the axe over her head and started hacking away at one of the shrubs.

"May I ask why you are doing that?"

"I am sick of going around them, from now on I'll just go through them," came her voice, so calm and reasonable. Her expression never changed, neither did the surface of her eyes break, but something did flow through the pump of her arms, down her hands and into the force behind the swings. Loki leaned back against the opposite, out of range of danger and her narrowed vision. A few more blows and the hedge parted, Sarah stepped through, pushing away the odd branch or leaflet. 

Loki didn't seem surprised when she paused, when she turned back and pointed to an area he could not see beyond the foliage. 

"There's my house," she said. "It's the outer wall."

Loki stood away from the cool leaves and stalked around the wounded shrub, came back. He placed one elbow against the new opening and smiled in upon her. "Is this cheating?"

She brushed past him; ignorant to the axe she was carrying as if it were only an extension of herself. She rounded the corner and ran her fingers over the shrub, exactly where the hole should be. Loki relaxed against its corner with fingers laced, he was beginning to thaw. Not that she noticed. She frowned at the unblemished wall of leaves, lifted the axe in a circular swing and forced the whole of her body into it. The wound opened, she stepped through, and paused.

"I hate this place." And that was the end of her dispassionate speech. The axe slipped to the ground and she leaned her weight upon it, hair falling over her brow and into her eyes. She glanced up to watch Loki step through the rip that seemed to be in the very air. She waited for it to close, to fold behind him like some curtain. But it didn't. It remained open, an outcry and declaration she no longer needed. She couldn't care about that, she couldn't think about anything. The only things inside her head were decisions. Decisions she didn't remember coming to or making, they just appeared---whole and being carried out.

"Ah," Loki cried with a fine resurrection of his previous humour. "This is precisely what we need." He circled around the exact fountain she had flung the faerie into, once upon a time. She followed him without moving, wondering what he was getting at. Surely that disgusting water wasn't what they needed.

Loki leaned over the stagnant pool and Sarah watched his long silver hair cascade, rich and running light. It indeed seemed to glow against the sun, and she couldn't quite recall when beauty had last spoke to her so deeply. 

It must have been years. 

It seemed like years. 

Such beauty fell into the foul water like a banner unfurling, and clarity spread from every strand. Sarah drew closer to the edge as the silver veil layered upon the water, a curiosity that was beginning to chew at that blossoming veneer of numbness. The taint melted back. The stone was unchanged, still crawling with moss and filth, but the water was pure. It was better than pure . . .it looked sweet, beckoning. Sarah placed the axe intently upon the ground and cupped her hands within the pool's cool liquid press. It was nothing at first. Then the dried blood spread in a dark cloud. She stared down at the sullied water, blinked.

Loki, having not missed the swirl of comprehension and confusion through her eyes, said quickly, "It's okay. It's okay."

But it wasn't. "No. Oh, no," she gasped, covering her face with her hands. The diluted blood ran down her cheeks in ruddy-brown streaks. She touched her face gingerly, as if it was something never before seen. The spell had snapped. Leaving thought, leaving understanding and reflections of more broken pieces. The tears came and she couldn't hold them back. She choked and clutched at her hair in the effort, as if she could drive all out of her head, but it still wasn't enough. The pearl-white tears cut through the stains, were just as stained when they fell. "Oh god, oh god. I killed that woman."

"Creature, Sarah. And you did what you had to." He tried to pull her hands away from her face. "You saved my life."

He still wasn't real to her. No, the only thing that was real to her was the horror. She shoved away from him, pushed at his hands and fell upon the ground in a heap of trembling sobs. She grasped the axe, curled around it as if a teddy bear. 

Her shoulders shook and the tears came as strangled wails, more confused than saddened. She held within her mind the image of herself and the image of the girl who had split the vouivre open at her seams, they over-lapped but did not match. She was possessed! She could remember the draping rush of the blood. Could almost taste the memory. So vivid it was, but so vague---so trimmed in blurred colours.

Loki petted her, whispered words of comfort that died as soon as they passed his lips. It didn't matter anyway. All she could hear was the swing of the sword, the rip of flesh, and the organic pour of life upon dirt. 

She cried and light shifted, cried until it seemed that all her pain had poured out. But it was still there, deadened by her exhaustion and quiet, but taken to root. Loki had pulled her into his lap, had cast his hair to one side to shelter her from the glaring sky, but he was still only so much of the scenery. She locked herself within her inner world and fell asleep there, but it wasn't a natural sleep. Deep and death-like, a sleep that seemed to slip between worlds. It gave her a sliver of oblivion. And these things: pain and oblivion, grew in her.

****

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She stirred in the deep of shadows, pushed the hair out of her face. Hair that was much too long. She took two handfuls of it and stared, wrapping it absently around her fingers. So different, but all as the same as when she had begun this journey. She raised quiet eyes to a familiar form. Something was affected, but it was buried so far beneathe the fatigue that she couldn't make it out. 

She was upon a table, a long dining table with candles that flickered about her, but seemed unable to stretch to the sooty corners. The Goblin King was seated at the head, but not as a King should. He hovered over an empty plate, chin cradled in his palm. In his free hand he held a three-pronged fork that he absently tapped against empty crystal. She tossed the hair over her shoulder and drew her knees up, wrapped her arms around them. Regarded him as he seemed to regard nothing. 

Candescent. He seemed so pale, even ghostly in the inconstant light; the lace looked like wilted rose petals. She wanted to ask why he dined upon empty dishes, why it was so dim that the shadows fluttered like black butterflies. But she couldn't speak. Words held no meaning. And so she laid her head upon her knee and disappeared behind the distance in her stare.

"The Middleground wears on you," that was his voice, but when she looked up his demeanor had not changed. He stared at the empty crystal, tilted it so the candlelight cast sparks against the dark-cherry-wood of the table. She stared at the sparks that flickered over his hair.

"It is . . .a peculiar place," she sighed, folding in on herself a little more.

"Oh?" he glanced up, then back down. He placed the crystal on the table, and the melodic noise of its strike seemed to echo around the dense walls of the dream. Sarah's long hair slipped forward about her shoulders, made her appear more compact and small.

"I've seen you," she whispered, unwinding her body some. She gathered her hair together, pulled it over one shoulder and twisted it. Twisted it and watched the first dawn of interest dance over his eyes. They were far more contrasting and less distinct in their colour, simple, one was light and one was dark. Compelling and wild, it was an innate grace within him. 

"I've seen you and I haven't seen you. I've seen a pale owl and goblins. I have been captured and nearly placed in your hands."

"Nearly?"

She laughed and there was no out-pouring of joy. It was much like the sound she made after killing the Serpent Faerie, with a less vocal manifestation of the hysteria. She poured sweetness into her smile, a poisoned sweetness. "I escaped." She was silent. She had such a desire. To tell him, to importune him---To sleep forever or just cut this quest off. She wasn't feeling particularly contrary, or even a match for his untamed eyes. She had defeated him, and now she was going to defeat herself. 

No, her hands slipped to her temples, pressed lightly as she stared at her o so clean shoes. _I was surviving. It's not wrong to survive. She was there to destroy me and I was there to stay alive. A lick of fate made it her and not me. I'm happy it was her and not me_. 'Happy' was nowhere within her, but neither was the option of allowing him to see how broken she really was. She had her pride still, as foolish as it was sometimes.

"How did you escape?"

"By chance alone," she paused as the whole affair came to her in a new light, "My capture created the situation, but it also delivered me from it. I suppose I should thank his highness for the cage, and curse him for it too." She smiled very small at him. "All in good time, of course."

He pushed away from the table, stood up and stalked from one end to the next. The dimness closed in around him, seemed to stain the edges of his presence, but left his lines clean and clear. She followed his movements without conscious thought, her eyes just automatically moved with him. It's never certain, but the dark seemed to suit him just as well as the light. 

"How long have I been gone?"

He glanced at her then stopped, placed his hands upon the table. "Moments, eternity. The time cannot be measured. The Middleground is a world between ours, but independent of them both."

"What's wrong?" she asked, then couldn't believe she had. She could not remember caring how he was or that he seemed agitated. In fact, she didn't know why she was so certain he was. Too late to think about her words so she didn't, waited as if they had no impact on her.

"The same," he straightened, "could be asked of you. You would not come until I provided you darkness and shadows. You are hiding from something."

She stared at him, knew he didn't know and was so thankful. If he could have seen the destruction she was capable of---she might have stopped breathing. Though his words did call forth interest in her. She had no idea that she held such an active role in these comings and goings. She had thought it was all at his hand.

"If it pleases you to know---I have struggled for every step I've taken here."

"It does not please me," he whispered. Then higher, "Sarah, you have brought this on yourself. You called me to take you away . . ." His eyes turned about the room and then to her, face so serious. He seemed to have lost the path of his words. "Tell me, was it worth it?"

"That remains to be seen. I still have not lost."

"You have lost something."

"What do you care? Why do you even bother?" 

He smiled. "You are certain you know everything. You, who understand so little about yourself---how could you ever expect to understand me?"

She smiled just as arrogantly, propping an elbow against her knee and tilting her head so the thick wave of her hair settled to one side. "You assume that I wish to understand you."

"Play your games, Sarah, as you always have. As you always will. But someday that defense will fail you."

"Don't get high and mighty with me," she slammed a fist against the wood and felt the impact vibrate up through her arm. The sensation was sharp and real, it felt good. "Everything about YOU is a game!"

"Sometimes games are all there is of truth," he leaned over the table casually and took up her hand, the one encased in echoes of pain. "You will carry this back with you, you know," he forced her fingers to uncurl, ran his down the centre of her palm lightly---light enough that she tried to jerk it back. To hide the resulting shudder. He held on, stared over it at her. "I can take this. Of all your struggles that have been and will come---you don't need to carry around this unnecessary pain. Let me," he was raising her hand, pressing the heel of her palm to his cool lips. "Let me take this from you." Sarah gasped as the heat spread from his mouth and the pain began to recede. But she couldn't let it be. She wanted the pain; she wanted some small outward declaration of the hell she was inside. 

She pulled, pulled so harshly that she lost her balance and the hand struck the table once again, most of her weight on that one wriste. She wished she could take back the whimper, or the sudden springing of moisture to her eyes. But she settled on cradling the wounded hand behind a veil of hair, cursing as he chuckled.

"You don't have to be so dramatic, my dear. I was only trying to help."

The hair went flying as her head snapped up, her eyes full of capricious fury. "I Don't Want Your HELP!"

He grinned at her, down through honey-lashes. Beautiful and half-mad. "Want it or not."

"You are an aggravating son of a bitch, do you know that?"

"A compliment to my abilities, I'm sure. Now, give me your hand," he held out his intently, and the candlelight brought a warm glow to the dark leather. 

Doubtful that it was truly so warm, she glared.

"No need to be coy, we should be family by now."

She grudgingly extended her hand, bit her tongue to keep from flinching as his fingers curved around hers. Once again he pressed the heel of her palm to his mouth and the pain eased back, melted from the heat of his lips. It went on, even after the pain was only a distant memory. She couldn't think why it was taking so long, but what did she know about healing-magic? 

And then he licked her. A quick, open-mouthed kiss that seemed to summon her pulse to the very surface of her skin. She tried to jerk her hand free but to no avail.

"You will hurt yourself again," came his voice, lower than it should have been. Intimate.

"I don't care, I don't care," she gasped all in the same breath.

He stopped smiling, eyes swinging over her averted gaze. "You mean that." Silence as she stared at the cherry-wood and the edges of light that danced across it, silence as she struggled to understand the swift change in his voice but could not bring herself to look. She was so afraid the vouivre's death would be reflected on the surface of her eyes. 

" . . .You brought this on yourself," he repeated, without that glow of condescending humour. He swept his free hand through one of the nearest candelabrums, sent it clattering awkwardly across the table. "Damn you! Damn you," he hissed, and she looked up. 

But it was too late, his voice was only an echo and she could feel herself waking up, rising out of sleep. She couldn't think of who he was damning. Or why he would suddenly wish to damn her. He was always so confusing, an assault on her senses---it never changed.


	7. La Soirée Est Venue Doucement

(A.N.)---the title is for dawn. the french does add a certain something. i hope you like it! ^_^ 

this chapter is longer than average, for me. is it any good? yes? no? maybe? should I throw my keyboard out the window? ^_^

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behold this pale offering whose essence feeds your every need/entwined, divine in the sleepless heart but what's to become of me? ~ Faith and the Muse (Denn Die Todten Reiten Schnell, Evidence of Heaven)

****

Chapter Seven: La Soirée Est Venue Doucement

It was dark she saw, with the warmth of foreign arms about her waist. Foreign but familiar. She pushed herself free and called everything back, noticing first the dry ground beneathe her and the edge of the fountain. Loki stirred beside her. She had brought him out of sleep as well, and it seemed neither had been graced with comfort. 

He had taken her axe from her, tossed it well out of reach, but moon struck it and pulled her eyes. It didn't make sense. She could see herself of the last hours and it was certainly her---Walking-empty, but her. She felt as if she were filling herself once more, that she had poured most of her being out to mix with the cold blood of the Serpent Faerie. The Middleground's current stretched through her, twined about less-traveled thoughts. Less-traveled for a reason. Its concentration was much purer with the proximity of the nexus. Rising and falling.

Loki's eyes were much too bright with an edge of weary-sleep to them. At that moment Sarah could see herself so clearly, skating upon their surface. Still in a state of physical chaos. Streaks through the filth on her face, dirt from the ground adding its own. Blood, tears, and earth. She wasn't horrified. She just wanted free of it. To wash away the evidence of her imminent insanity. Clean, she could look at herself and pretend nothing ever was. Clean, she could say 'See, all a dream'---A dream in a world where dreams were reality.

Loki stood up, grasped her hands and pulled her up as well. She let him lead her to the edge of the fountain, watched distantly as he cupped and poured water over her hands. The moonlight seemed less intense than the night before, but an indirect glow made Loki clear. It seemed to crawl beneathe his skin, fall in waves over his hair. _If a boy could be a star . . ._

"How did you cleanse the water?"

He didn't look up or pause, smiled minutely as he washed her hands of blood. "I'm a Pisces," he glanced up once, "my element is water."

She, of course, laughed. "I'm a Libra, so what? What you did was magic."

"Libra, hmm," he grinned when her eyes narrowed. "Besides, it wasn't magic. It's just what I do. Your people chart the stars and follow their paths; they use the days of their birth. You were born under Libra. I was born under Pisces," he danced his fingers over the water and it glittered prism-like in the moonlight. He bent his head so the tips of his silver hair brushed its surface, the lucidity unfolded out again like a flower. His hair was beautiful. It was never dirty.

"And your brother, what was he born under?" she didn't really care, but she wanted to know. She didn't understand why. It couldn't possibly have any impact on her.

"He was born under Gemini," he swirled his fingers through the water in such a curious manner that her eyes followed them around and around. "His element is wind." And then he stood, grasped her hands once again and urged her toward the lucid water. "Bathe, refresh yourself. I will find food," he didn't wait for an answer, seemed insistent on not hearing her answer. 

She watched him go and realized she wanted the water, wanted to wash away the physical evidence of what she knew would be her continuing nightmare. She was too cut off from herself to worry about would-be prying eyes, stripped away the tattered clothes and winced at the sound of the shirt as it ripped away from her skin. The blood had soaked to the flesh, ghostly designs in the moonlight. She placed her clothes on the dusty ground and lowered herself into water that was warmer than moments before. It touched not the cold that knotted inside her, could only warm her skin. The liquid seemed oddly resistant to the grime, but not wholly. It became dark and discoloured in places, but it left her skin clean. 

So many livid bruises manifested, small cuts and a scabbed gash across her shoulder. She hadn't felt them. She still didn't feel them. She understood enough to know that she WOULD feel them. She was still too close to the violence.

She leaned her cropped hair back into the water, scrubbed at it fiercely to rid it of some of its foulness. She had no shampoo, but her hair came clean. She chalked it up to Loki's magic, supposed it was good for something after all. When wet her hair was as black as pitch, the weight of water made it seem longer. She combed it back from her face and focused on the blood beneathe her fingernails, not thinking of what it was. 

Time crept by though it didn't move at all, she jumped when she heard Loki's approach---ducked beneathe water and crossed her arms protectively over her breasts. She knew how to be naked and modestly covered, but the knowledge did not lend any comfort. She really couldn't feel nervous about it though. He had fought for her and she had killed for him, violence could tie two people together tighter than any love. She knew now that she trusted Loki, enough to give him her tears. Enough to shatter before him and not ask for forgiveness. She stared up at his now ragged yet pristine state, his clothes a faded glory to the richness they were before. He held something out to her and she realized they were her own once-soiled garments. Still ripped and sorry, but clean. Blessedly clean. She couldn't remember seeing him come back for them, but then again, she had sunk half into her own little world. 

Without prompt he placed the clothes upon a dry edge of the fountain, turned around and folded his arms against his waist. It was clear he wasn't going to leave, but he was going to give her a measure of privacy. 

She stepped out and pulled what was left of her clothes on. The jeans were a little damp, but whole. The shirt was ripped across the stomach; one sleeve hung close to disappearing completely. It covered her. That was all she needed. She didn't tell Loki to turn around, lightly brushed his shoulder with her fingertips as she swept past. She picked up the axe with her clean white hands, swung it back against her shoulder and glanced to him as he stared at her. 

"Have you found food?" The book bag was gone. Too much had happened since the night before to know for certain where it could be. She supposed it was the property of the Wolf King. Wherever it was, it was useless to them now. And she was famished. Time did not move, but it appeared that everything else moved just fine. Her eyes swung past the rip in the air. Some things moved too quickly.

Loki brought her food. A flowering fruit that was at first sour, then sweet. She peeled red petals back from the plant's fleshy heart---she had to eat, and Loki assured her that it was safe. She believed him. He forced water past her lips, and it, too, was sweet. It was a shame she couldn't take these things back with her. They didn't taste of magic; they were just good. Simple. So no drugged peaches for her. No, she need only close her eyes to sink into that realm where the Goblin King waited, with his constantly changing words. _To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub!_ She sighed. She was less than amused. 

Loki was persistent in his mothering of her. He refused to travel under the glow of the moon, shady statements about nightmagic, and creatures. Why did everybody believe the night was so dangerous? Why why why indeed. Her day had been so horrible---she couldn't imagine the horrors that could top it. She refused to think about them and let him talk her into trying to sleep. She wouldn't sleep.

****

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Sleep did find her, during the rich darkness that comes only on the edge of dawn. A sleep without thought and moment, as if it were independent of both and in a realm of partial nothingness. When she did wake it was because of Loki's musical laugh. He was staring at her intently, with lips just a little curled---Sarah couldn't stand people watching her sleep. It made her feel . . .vulnerable. It was not a pleasant feeling. So she eased up off the ground and glared at him. He didn't seem to notice.

Using the axe as a sort of column, she leaned upon it and felt her first real tenderness. Her shoulders. And her back and her legs---A parade of pain. Bruises ached and scratches stung, everything begged for her useless attention. There was nothing she could do. Loki slumped some on his feet. He, too, seemed willing to give into his ailments. But he smiled bravely and she returned it. They wouldn't stop now, probably not ever.

"Here's to a better day," he saluted, then moved to the rip. He bowed low and swept his hands through the air, a perfect gentlemanly smile. She sighed, supposed it was good to know that he still had his sense of humour. She was afraid she had lost hers somewhere back on the path. She was still feeling unbelievably distant. She wasn't crying, she knew the tears would probably never be gone, but she was calm. Even numb. Scratch the bath when she got home. She was going to sleep for ten years. Maybe when she woke up it would be the day before yesterday, the year before yesterday. She could stand to lose a day, a year. 

She stepped through the rip into foreign scenery. Stopping just as Loki paused beside her. "It always changes," she whispered as he glanced curiously to her, "whatever I come to expect never fails to change here." 

The Hedge maze had given way to trees with weighing branches. Rows and rows, an orchard of glowing gold apples and green-sheen leaves---broad, like those of a Ginkgo, but the span of her hand with the fingers stretched. Sun speckled between the natural walkways, shadow was honey and cool. In the distance she could hear the high songs of birds. They caught her a moment and made her follow the notes. Rising, falling...such a sweet, sweet sound. 

The rip melded behind them, the outer wall and once stagnant fountain disappeared. Sarah stared where the entrance had once been, passed her hands through empty air then sighed. The only thing that kept her from growling was the sight of the castle rising high above the fruit-laden trees. High and far. It hardly looked closer than the day before, and she distantly wondered if everything had a tendency to relocate in this place. Perhaps she would wake up in the night and be laid out like some gift on the castle steps? She shuddered. That was not a comforting thought. Though there was something in her over-eager to see the end of this quest. Or, at least, make an end of it. She reasoned the Goblin King would be a fitting end. No matter how real he was or wasn't.

She and Loki took to walking beneathe the trees, watching the shadows as they danced with whatever light was left to fall between the dense branches. She stepped over roots that seemed to reach into her path, watched the glint of gold apples. She felt some measure of warmth in her fingers even as they wrapped tightly around the old axe's handle. 

Loki evolved into a more pleasant frame of mind as well. His hands, having discreetly disposed of the sword she had been insistent upon taking, wove through his silver hair. He absently braided several lengths of it over his right shoulder. Sarah recognized it as a charming contrast to the fruit that decorated the canopy above. 

Everything was so peaceful and serene, so natural and beautiful---it was hard to imagine the events of the day before. It seemed wrong to think of them . . .so she didn't. She forced back the past, but knew that tomorrow would become just as fine a bed for yesterday as today was. But tomorrow never came, so perhaps neither would the pain. She knew better. Her savagery would return to her every day, and maybe someday her heart would be so hardened that it no longer mattered. She lamented that possibility, and longed for it. What was the cost of oblivion? Would the sacrifice be so high that all else would fall meaningless? Would she still be her, or would she be a tattered memory, some glimpse of nostalgia?

The branches shivered in the absent wind, reached into the blue sky and clawed at it with wide leaves. The distant castle sparkled in the spill of late morning light; it seemed a crossroad to eternity. An anchor to a world that drifted freely. Just as _he_ had placed her at the nexus of the three realms, the castle seemed grounded as an axis---the centre, core, the pebble from which all the Middleground rippled. If that was correct then she was traveling against the current, and her struggles were not at an end. 

But didn't she know that already? 

She sighed, longed to return to sleep, but could not see it as a refuge. There she struggled as well. To understand the Goblin King, to not go so deep into that understanding that she lost sight of herself. It was easy to forget that there was a life . . .a life that existed untouched by him, easier to remember that she could no longer have that life.

"You measure so much against those nine hours. Don't you know that nothing can compare to a dream realized?"

Sarah glanced to Loki, muted anger in her eyes. She was still so tired. "What I think is mine, Loki. You can't have any part of it."

He looked back at her, and she was amazed to see the embarrassment flicker momentarily across his gold eyes. "It's true though," he said. "You're unique because you won't give up the dream . . .but, you see, life rejects the dream. No one can understand you, and you will understand no one. Reality will never be real for you."

She was staring at him with that ever-silent burden, her eyes seeming to ask what it was he wanted her to say. She had a dreamer's soul. One she had praised and mourned, cursed and blessed. Many times she had been so wont to be free of its chains, and many other times she had found herself soaring through its endless contingencies. Was she supposed to ask for forgiveness? She wasn't sorry. 

He wasn't reprimanding her as so many others took their pleasure, he was hinting at something. For the life of her she couldn't think of what. Some failure in her to recognize a choice, a path she had missed when fighting with the constant sky . . .that was when she began to wonder over the details of his story, began to pick at the vague yarn he had offered her so eagerly. There was a depth to him that he hadn't shown her yet, she was certain. Just as certain as she was that he was biding his time. 

She could have told him these deeper thoughts, but something in her did not want to speak. It was the same thing in her that longed only to sit and stare, rock and forget that anything existed beyond herself. She let it have its way for a short while, let her mind slip into that still pool of apathy. The rows of beautiful trees swayed regardless.

Sarah stopped short, the ends of her cropped hair fluttering at the abruptness of the motion. It was in her imagination that one of the branches had moved, that leaves had shifted at the turn of her eye. A gold apple hung suspended with the glint of sun sparking on its edges, like light shifting through crystal. All else was still around it. Sarah glanced to Loki as he walked on obliviously, as sound melted into static and she felt the second tinge---the need to move closer. 

Having learned Snow White's lesson, having avoided the prick of the spinning needle herself---Sarah remained where she was, and even smiled. 

__

I won't be so enchanted; I won't fall into that glass coffin. There is no Prince Charming. And I'm Not Trying To Play The Princess Anymore! All these things she silently relayed to the waiting apple, despite the nagging trace that wanted it. Wanted to fall into the oblivious arms of some enchanted sleep. How pleasant that would be. So Sarah turned on her heel and almost moved.

"The Lady Tailia doesn't offer gifts often, its best that you take it."

Of course, not only did that bring Sarah's attention, but Loki's as well, who finally stopped. They saw the same thing. A girl, who couldn't have seen more than eleven years, nestled into the side of the tree. She shown so brightly, with luminescent gold hair and the softest white leather, it was a wonder they hadn't noticed her before. She smiled small, her delicate fingers running along the long bow she had crossed over her back, with a quiver of silver arrows.

"Excuse me?" Sarah chirped with just a slight hint of nervousness. She had dropped her axe without realizing it; she wished she hadn't. She didn't believe she would have to protect herself from the girl-child, but it was always best to be prepared. Just as a wolf wasn't always a wolf---a child may not be just that. Loki seemed to reach the same conclusion, moved instantly to her side. He had not changed, but she could feel his alertness stretching out to her. He was ready. For what, was the question. 

The girl stepped away from the tree, offered up her hand with her slight fingers curved. The gold apple simply dropped into it. She held it out to Sarah. "A gift for a few moments of your time. The Lady Tailia has always been the more talkative of the bunch," wide blue eyes swept over the trees in some secret humour, then returned. They seemed oddly shaped.

"What is it?" Sarah asked.

The girl shrugged, her body young but willowy. "It is not for me, so I could not say." Her gaze shifted back and forth, no doubt studying the open distrust on Sarah's face. "It will not harm you. It is a gift."

Sarah hated it. The pity in the imp's eyes. As if it was so sad that she could no longer trust in all that she could see. She was no longer an innocent, had she ever been, and magic was still so fickle. She stepped back once so she was even with Loki, laid her head against his shoulder a moment and regarded the girl, the threat of her outstretched hand. Loki's hair fluttered across her vision, silver upon the apple's gold. 

Sarah took it as an omen, took the apple between her palms.

Nothing. And then it happened all at once, some spark of figurative fire that ate up her veins and into the world behind her eyes. She caught the flash of shimmering cloth, the smell of peonies, and the prickle of oblivious ants---poppy red lips and the fade of empty desire. All this and more swept through her. Then swept away. She did not blink. The apple was still just settling into the cradle of her hands.

"What is it?" She whispered again, surprised that her voice was so steady.

The girl's head tilted until the gold spilled in softly curling waves. The filtered light gave it odd violet tints. "You do not know?"

Sarah shook her head numbly. The shadows of the great trees loomed over her; the path between them seemed more narrow.

"The Lady Tailia has welcomed you to her grave."

"Her grave?"

"Yes. Will you speak with her?"

Sarah blinked, not failing to see how dark this realm was under the guise of beauty and light. "How?"

The girl traced lightly the bark, urged Sarah to do the same. Sarah looked immediately to Loki, tried to decipher his face. Curiosity, but a new streak to the feral gold: caution. He wouldn't stop her from making a choice, but he would be on hand to turn it back if it was a dangerous one. At least, he would try. She eased forward slowly, mirrored the girl. The bark was jagged, it pressed into her palm and she felt it pulling at her. Something pulling at her. She gasped when it finally came free, stumbled back into Loki's awaiting arms. 

"I . . .I feel," she stared at her hands, her heartbeat pulsed through her veins, she could feel it in her fingers as if they were throbbing. "I feel," she looked up to Loki's over-worried eyes, the anger not there yet, but dawning. "I feel fine," she whispered to him._ Shaken, but nothing more. _ The leaves of the tree rustled slightly above. She righted herself against Loki, then pushed away from him completely when she was certain she wouldn't waver or sway.

"You've had . . .an interesting life," the blonde child said, "with equal amounts of joy and suffering---"

"Who are you?" Sarah realized it was probably the first question she should have asked. Maybe the confusion wouldn't have been so deep around her as the walls of a jar.

"Babael. Keeper of the Royal Graves."

Or maybe not.

"The Royal Graves," Loki interrupted with a new interest and voice to match, "Do you mean the Goblin King?"

Babael's wide blue eyes fell over him, child-like but knowing. Wisdom encased in the vestige of youth. "Some of them."

A chorus of song rose close. Sarah searched the sky for the wings of birds, but saw nothing. The same song she had heard earlier. 

Babael's eyes were murder. "They sing to steal the tears of the Kings and Queens," she hissed quickly, as if she were speaking of forbidden magic, or of obscenities amongst children. She brought down the long bow, drew out a silver arrow with a '_swoosh'_ and poised it.

"Good luck to you then," Babael spun away and ran, her gold hair curling about the vacant wind. A trick of shadow gave her long white legs, gave her the air of a bounding deer. Sarah blinked, but the image stayed. It was no trick. Babael of the gold hair was gone and in her place was an ivory doe---sprinting away, so graceful that it took the breath.

Sarah turned her attention back and stared at the apple still in her hand, wondered over its use. She wasn't afraid of it. If there was harm to come she didn't believe it, and Loki did not seem worried. Finally, she tucked it into her pocket, retrieved her axe faithfully. Loki still did not like her wish to continue carrying it, and neither did she, but it was needed. She needed to protect herself; she knew that now. Maybe not from sweet white does hunting birds in a royal graveyard, but there were so many other horrors to imagine.

"These are his mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters?"

Loki was still gazing after Babael, though she was no longer to be seen. "It would appear so."

Sarah stepped back from the trees, back until she was in the centre of the path and they were all around her. It was unnerving to think of them in such a way. "The Lady Tailia," she whispered to Loki, then looked to him, "She's his mother. _His_ mother!" For some reason she had never believed he had a mother, or any family at all. That he just _was,_ without clear beginnings.

"The Jareth of this realm, Sarah. You must stop speaking as if they are one and the same."

"You're right. You are right. I know they are not the same, but . . .does the real Goblin King have a mother, I wonder?"

Loki shrugged. "Perhaps you should ask him someday."

Sarah laughed. "Right. I'll be sure to do that."

Evening came soft. The sky was awash in violet and royal threads of blue; it edged the trees and deepened shadows. It was cool beneathe the trees shelter, bordering on cold. The physical pain of yesterday was beginning to bear on Sarah, and each step she took she had to drag from her stubborn nature. She didn't want to stop. She didn't want to spend another night at the mercy of this nether realm. And she did not want to dream of the Goblin King again. That was such a lie. He had become her tie to her own reality, and she was dreading it. That she should define her reality through _him_ just plain frightened her. It meant too much. It gave too much. It contested that lack of 'power' he had over her. But again, she refused to think about it, looked for her distractions wherever she could.

She and Loki settled beneathe one of the great trees. Sarah wasn't too keen on that, but he assured her that they were safer than they were any night before. Which, in its own, really wasn't a comforting thought. Sarah nestled against Loki at the foot of one of the 'Goblin King's relatives', stared at the sky when it broke through the branches. There was no wind to chill, but the ground was cold, as if it skated upon a layer of ice. Neither of them really had adequate cover, certainly not Sarah in her ripped shirt. She thoughtlessly wondered if Babael got cold at night, in her doe's skin.

"Go to sleep, my pet," Loki whispered drowsily, his arm smoothing around her shoulder. It was brotherly, they had finally moved past the games and found a ground they were both comfortable with. Sarah shifted yet again, adding to her list of things she would do when she got home---surround herself with fluffy soft pillows. She warmed against Loki's side, was aware when he finally drifted into sleep.

It wasn't a surprise when the dream came. Sarah watched it come. She watched the slow changes like fog creeping in. The edges of the trees faded, Loki dulled to nothing. The ground beneathe her became warm and soft, her reflection stared back at her from her old vanity. The Goblin King was there as well, he glanced about curiously, then his eyes fell on her. He approached her and the shadowed corners of her room drew back. He still seemed so elegant, but common in his dress. He glittered, but mutedly.

He smiled, and there was definitely something empty about it. As if he really wasn't there at all. He was going to speak, but she opened her mouth first.

"I met your mother."

He paused, eyebrows rising in a mix of interest and puzzlement. "My mother?"

"The Lady Tailia," Sarah provided blandly. "Perhaps not your mother, but your mother here."

"She is not my mother." He replied coolly. 

"So you do have a mother," it wasn't a question. 

He glared at her sharply, the emptiness receding. But whatever it was replaced with---she had no word for it. It wasn't a kind emotion. "You must have wanted to see me badly, to bring me here like this."

She had brought him? That did not sound right. Why would she want to do that? But it was beginning to make more sense. It was, after all, the first time she had actually witnessed the passage. All other times she hadn't seen the dream come, just woke up in it. 

"I didn't know," she finally said while she stared at her bedspread. She looked up at him. "I was thinking about you before I went to sleep. Perhaps that is why."

"Perhaps," was his answer, as ambiguous as usual. He positioned himself gracefully upon the end of her bed. Somewhere inside she concluded that he looked a lot like the creature he became, the owl. But the owl did not have the kind of grace on land that the Goblin King had. She supposed it came with being king, if not bird. 

"Tell me about your journey," he said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was openly studying him. She didn't know why, but she felt too tired to even care.

Her hands fell down over her shirt, touched lightly the places that should have been ripped and gaping. " . . .I have yet to see you, but I will soon. I have no delusions about that. Whatever comes then---I don't know."

He shook his head, smiling all the while. Though it was so small that its relevance could be contested. "So close, but still you miss the point."

Sarah pushed herself back against her headboard. She had been comfortable in the illusion of her room, up until the point that he had sat down on her bed. Not because of the suggestion, but because it seemed wrong for them to sit and talk quietly together. And the self-imposed distance was needed. "Why don't you tell me the point?"

He was definitely amused. "It doesn't work that way."

She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, aware that it was a gesture of resistance. "It never works that way."

"Sarah Sarah Sarah, poor Sarah," he sighed, with such obvious mock concern. She felt like sinking through her bed and into some black world. She was in no mood to play. Of course, that never dissuaded him.

"I'm not in the mood," she warned coldly.

"Oh, then," he leaned toward her provocatively and whispered, "what are you in the mood for?"

If, by some chance, her hand had been wrapped around something more threatening than a pillow---she would have made him rethink taunting her. Couldn't he see how ripped up she was? No, he couldn't. At least, not how far the damage ran. So she summoned up her iciest glare to cover the pieces that lay broken inside her. It worked. He laughed. She wished she could feel triumphant, but she just felt empty. 

The contours of her room faded once, twice, then settled into their prior vibrancy---in fact, everything was hypervibrant. He looked about, then back to her, his laughter dying slowly to be replaced by some more attentive expression.

"What are you hiding?" he asked quietly. She gazed at him with a peppering of incomprehension.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he waved at the perfect illusion of her room, but his eyes remained on her, stark in their intensity, "this is too . . ._forced_. Too potent. You are using your 'reality' as a mask, and the mask," he paused, "almost slipped."

She stared at him, then looked with annoyance on her mirror. It reflected only shadows and darkened light. The window beyond showed the same formlessness. "I don't know what you are talking about." She turned her eyes back to him. "I'm not hiding anything." As much of a lie that was, and she could tell that he knew it. But she raised her chin defiantly, told him without speaking a word that she didn't care what he knew. She wasn't disclosing to him.

He shook his head, amusement on his mouth, but annoyance in his eyes. "Let me show you something," he crossed over to her door and slowly opened it. The lace at his cuffs fluttering slightly as an odd breeze wound around him. The door was silent on hinges she knew should have creaked, but the outside opened and took her attention. There was nothing, nothing but a swirl of black mist, cuts of light that quickly dissolved. She didn't understand.

"Don't you see," he stressed, turning to her. "It all seems so perfect, but if you try to reach beyond the surface," he hesitated, looked back as if he couldn't help it, as if the mists had drawn him into their swirling heart. " . . .It's chaos." 

He slammed the door, eyes boring through hers as if it was enough to make her fall to his feet, to make her place all her secrets on his altar. "What has changed." Not a question, no---a command. It was a command no matter how he softened it out. Her glare narrowed.

"I'm not so ignorant anymore," she replied blandly, with just an echo of frigid anger. What right did he have to demand answers! He waited quietly for more, then sighed when it was apparent that she didn't think there was anymore. He crossed his arms over his breast.

"I tire of you," he said.

"Believe me," she stared at her hands blindly, feeling pain chase through the back of her eyes, "The feeling is mutual."

He looked at her. Really looked at her. "You're getting good at it."

"Good at what?" the pain was going into her jaw. She was gritting her teeth. She hadn't realized.

"Lying."

She smiled slightly, but it couldn't be mistaken for pleasant. "I learned from the best."

"Deceived, yes. But when have I lied to you?"

"My," she laughed; she couldn't help herself. "We're not a little arrogant, are we? Not everything is because of you." _No, no---this time I was thinking about my mother . . .the whore_ . . . She twisted, stood up and paced to the window with its black view, her arms wrapping tightly around her waist like she was trying to keep everything inside. _Why do I do this to myself? Why do I take the pain and wear it until it's all worn out_? 

She ran her fingers down one of the curtains, clawed and felt her nails drag over the threads. She had an intense desire to grab handfuls of the material and jerk so all fell down around her. She settled on collapsing against it, inclining her head until the wall cooled her temple. She placed her palm flat against the window and stared past it into the inky abyss. The glass was so cold---her skin tingled. It was so real, sometimes she forgot she was asleep.

"Penny for your thoughts," he whispered, mirroring her stance on the other side of the window. There was a curve to his mouth, but it wasn't quite a smile. She turned to look and it was amazing how swift the change swept through him. He sobered, his expression falling into more serious lines. "Tell me . . ."

"Tell you?" she whispered with an empty turn to her tone. Then she laughed. The voice of reason caged in her head was in fear of that sound spilling out of her mouth. It was amazing how much like crying laughter really was. The only thing missing was the pearl-white tears. "What do you think there is to tell? My journey has been long and difficult, and I fear that I'm still only at the gate. For every triumph---I have had to cut out a piece of myself." She grabbed the end of her pristine blouse, presented it to his eyes with shaking fingers. "This is not me. This is NOT me!" She flung the shirt down and raised her hands to the curtain, began twisting the material roughly between her fingers, wrapping herself in it until it threatened to crash down upon her. 

She froze, realized that if it fell nothing would be left to hold back her tears. She wouldn't---she _couldn't_ cry in front of him. She pushed herself out of the curtain and turned back to the window, pretended that she hadn't just skated the edge of breaking. "There is nothing to tell."

"Sarah---"

She growled with all her frustrations, all her desire to be free of his inquiries. She snapped up the edge of the drape and jerked with as much strength as she could muster, until it fell in flutters around them both. And when it was done and over and gone, so was he. 

She was free and alone, left to her illusions of reality. She sank down to the floor amongst the thin folds of the fallen curtain and sobbed.


	8. Make A Wish

(A.N.)---i know this is incredibly late. please forgive me. i almost gave up on it on account of my computer eating the original file. let's see...first i lost the document, then i managed to get it back (yes, damaged). i spent four hours repairing it, but was then too tired to work on it. so i put it away. two days later i opened the file and all the work i had done was gone. safe to say that i had a very unbecoming fit, then swore the story off completely. 

i was beginning to think the damn thing was cursed (and i'm not the superstitious-type, so that says a lot). but i went back to work on it as soon as school started, and this is all i have to offer right now. it stops right in the middle of the chapter, but it was either post half or wait until i typed up the rest. being caught up in my second semester of college, i can't know how quickly i'll get the next chapter out. sometimes school drains me of all mental capabilities, sometimes it actually helps me get into writer-mode. i can say i will try to get the rest out in a timely manner. 

eeek, be forewarned, some fluff wormed it's way into this chapter. *shudders* i'm not much for fluff, but this chapter called for it. my humblest apologies. usually i'm better at avoiding this kind of thing, but...it happens.

thanks! this has been a labour of love in the strictest sense! ^_^ 

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Chapter Eight: Make A Wish

Sarah was so thankful to see the over-shadowing trees when she opened her eyes. She was afraid that the night would bring more changes, and more evidence of her insanity. Leaves rustled quietly in the lack of wind, the bright apples danced light back. It was too foreign to think of these things as kings and queens, princes and princesses---with conscious thought and action even after death. When the Goblin King died would he became a beautiful tree bearing gold apples?_ No, he would bear enchanted peaches._

Sarah, though thankful, was in no better mood than she was the day before. She felt exhausted. Mentally empty as well as physically. It was so much like that thread of feeling that comes directly after a long, hard cry---as if there was nothing left inside to care. The pain was tucking itself into somewhere she couldn't see. Somewhere permanent. She couldn't find this place; she hid things from herself. 

Sighing, she used the axe to push herself up and glanced to Loki's sleeping form. How quiet he was. How soft was his sleeping face. She felt her moment of observation swell into her, and knew she would carry the image with her always. It seemed such a shame. Why couldn't she let him sleep, float in that world inside that was clearly much more tranquil? Because he couldn't, _because it was a lie_. She brushed her fingers through his silky hair, combed it back behind his ear. He pressed into her palm a moment then stirred, golden eyes blinking open on her.

"Good morning," he whispered.

"It is morning," she replied, easing back so he could move more freely. He stretched, stood and brushed his hands down over his clothes. It was intriguing to watch the glow of light spilling through his silver hair, the shadows creating contrast. It had felt like heaven beneathe her fingers.

Sarah stared up into the sea of sky, ticking off the seconds that didn't exist in the Middleground. With each breath she silently instructed herself, prepared herself for the day and struggle ahead. An hour hadn't gone by since her arrival, she felt as if all her years were pressing on her back.

Preparation and midday found them still moving amongst the trees, unchanged. Every so often she caught a curl of pale grey fog, will 'o the wisps that twined about distant trees, then faded away. She was amused to see their dancing pinpoints of drowned light. Her heavy mood lifted, but only by little. She had seen similar visions in early morning haze, and in some of the deepest of nights. It reminded her of home---home, where nobody even noticed she was gone. Where they would never even notice if she returned. She shifted the axe against her other shoulder and pretended it was enough to wipe her thoughts clean.

They found water and food, but no end. Night washed in again, blanketing the sky with stars that burned brighter and closer than all her memories of home. It didn't seem as though a day had passed. Sarah was certain a day had not passed. But the darkness was more complete without any moon; Loki refused to move further and she refused to move without him. So, once again, they settled down to sleep beneathe one of the towering trees. And she swore to herself that she wasn't going to call on the Goblin King, that she was going to sleep the empty sleep of oblivion and be content with it. She also swore that tomorrow would find them outside of this _royal graveyard_. She needed free of it.

"Loki," she whispered, as the night deepened. She heard the slightest noise, the rustle of cloth over leaves and instantly could feel his attention on her. Every moment she spent immersed in the Middleground's magic, it seemed like years, but if she had learned only one thing it was this: Violence had brought Loki her trust, as sorry as that was. Fallen, broken, writhing at his feet in the throes of some waking nightmare---he had been her shelter from the world and herself when both had caved in on her. Fought it, yes, but she needed him now. Needed him to help her keep her delusions of sanity. And needed his companionship.

She turned back to the scenery, noting the edge of blue tint that settled over everything. Shades of blue and black were all she could see. And rich threads of grey. She smiled without truly feeling it. Having moved beyond numb, she was separate from the sensations of her body. "I hope your brother appreciates all we're doing for him."

Loki was quiet for a moment then his voice came, clawing out of the very air between them. "He will. Perhaps not at first..." He smiled; she could see the faint lines of it under the guise of blue-darkness. If one wished to pretend they could say that it was brimming with some bitter story. 

He wasn't going to tell her, she knew. But she had to ask anyway. "Why do you say that?"

"My," he chuckled softly, "nothing gets past you, my pet. Let's just say," he paused, seemed to sift through his words before continuing. "He may blame me. It was my words, after all, that did it..."

One bad sibling disclosing to another, Sarah felt the guilt spill out through her body and down into the pit of her stomach. There it churned like a cold fire. Toby, too young to remember those hours in the Goblin King's care, would never blame her for her neglect. But he didn't need to---she did it for him. Always would.

"Did you mean them?"

"Mean what?" he asked absently.

"The words."

"Oh," he shifted again and his voice was much more attentive. "Yes. At the time...I meant them." He fell into a shallow silence, comfortable when she couldn't help but thrash. "We mean a lot of the things we say; but we don't always mean for them to be heard. Jareth heard."

She hadn't really meant her words, but for a second she had earnestly wished. Perhaps a second was all that it took. She silently retrieved the apple from her pocket and traced its edges, her fingertips moving slowly, lightly. Its flesh was cold and smooth, resilient. It should have been bruised from time and her journey, but it wasn't. She could feel its perfection through her skin. Even though its gold was only a drowning glint in the darkness. 

"You know, I never asked for your brother's name."

"No, you didn't."

"Since I have risked life and sanity for him, I should at least know that much," she felt an edge of laughter bubble up. Small and dying quickly, but it was years in its making. Too long in confusion, she was beginning to welcome its touch. At least IT was consistent. 

"Yes."

She waited and waited. "Well...what is it?"

He sighed. "Nix. It is safe to speak his name here because there is no wind to carry."

She accepted his words as truth. She knew first hand the magic that could be woven into a name. These beings between light and shadow...sometimes it took little more than their name to invoke them. Nix. She silently tasted it, barred it from her voice.

"What will you do? When you have your brother, that is."

"I suppose we'll go home. Learn each other again."

She felt odd, eager to be done with the whole thing, but uncertain of what would come next. Returning to life seemed too foreign. Somewhere inside she understood that she had been shaped far too much by her trials. As Loki said, reality would never be real for her. 

"Would," she began, "Would you visit me?" 

Silence came again and she jerked suddenly as his hand smoothed over her cropped hair. She forced herself to relax and settled into the crook of his arm. His warmth seeped into her, thick and delicious. Tingling. 

"You need only call my name," he whispered.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Sarah woke with a cold caress. She curled up between hard empty space and the uneven grooves of the tree, her hair falling around her eyes in disarray. And she saw it. A pair of mismatched eyes blinking at her curiously. _Oh...OH_! She started to panic, had only seen such a combination in one individual. Loki hissed her name and she could hardly manage a sharp intake of breath before paralysis crept over her.

"Don't move."

Wisps that took form and scattered, that bled together and sent shivers through her veins. She blinked as the first pair of eyes stared at her---a cat, made seemingly from the very fog with ghostly wings, tattered wings. It tilted its head among dissolving tendrils of mist, its eyes the most solid and only colour. 

There were roughly seven cats, but it was difficult to keep count when they wound about each other and spliced and unfurled. One curl stroked against her bare arm, a wing fluttered close to her face. She whimpered, but remained still. Just as she was told.

"What are they," she whispered, her eyes straining to see Loki. He wasn't quite as upset as she was. Slowly he inclined a hand and scraps of mist parted around it. 

He looked at her and smiled shakily. "I think they're just curious. Stand up and see what they do."

Sarah glared and, with her eyes alone, made it abundantly clear that she would do no such thing. In fact, if words could be written in eyes, he would have just read _'damn fool_'. Loki shrugged and pushed himself up. 

The cats all scattered instantly, rushed away and melted back into the drear morning fog. 

Sarah remained unmoving for long moments, waiting for the seemingly frail, harmless shadows to return. Loki smirked at her, but she couldn't pay him so much attention. She finally understood the importance of breathing...

"We are getting out of this graveyard today," she remarked to Loki when she could, and the conviction in her voice said that it would happen. That she would make it happen. Her eyes were so sharp that he did not doubt her. 

"Well, then let's get going," he replied, then froze as the fog drifted back from his steps to reveal a ghostly well. Sarah came around him with the axe dragging behind her, grinning like a madwoman. She passed her free hand lazily along the worn stones and stared up at the weathered, wooden canopy. The stones were pale, but the canopy was just a few steps darker. Scattered threads of russet told a story that nothing else could. Once upon a time the wood had been deep, dark, vibrant red. No. Red was too common a word---crimson. Years and water washed it of its crowning glory, but gave it another kind of beauty. The beauty that is found in tattered ships half-buried in the ocean floor...of huge, reclining cats battered by years of sand. She propped her axe against one side. She walked one complete circle around it before turning back and rushing to his side. 

"This wasn't here last night," she hissed, and he was uncertain of the excitement in her voice. Every other sudden change had brought her wariness, but this one saw her ready to plunge headfirst into anything. It was his turn to pick up the wariness for both of them. 

"Do you know what this means?" she whispered absently. He wasn't sure if she even remembered he was there; her words didn't seem to be for him. "Don't you know what wells are for..."

"Water?" he provided blandly. Her eyes snapped to him, sharp but quiet. Then one shoulder lifted in a sort of half-hearted shrug. She appeared tired again, and restless.

"You're probably right," she said, the light dying out of her eyes. "Of course you're right. It's not like I have any coins anyway."

Loki's face softened, she was so refreshingly young sometimes. The kind of girl you expect to see in some distant dream, garlands of flowers in her hair and a lion purring passively in her lap. It really was a shame she couldn't have the same eyes for him that he had for her. _No no no_, he pressed that thought back into the whispering static of all the others. That was already decided.

"What would you wish for?" The softness in his gaze had clearly affected his voice, and he smiled when her eyes raised then fell on him curiously.

"At this moment?" she grinned, "clean clothes."

He returned her expression and, with a flick of his wrist, tossed something to her that winked with light. She caught it effortlessly and studied it. Smooth between her fingers, and cool, a tiny disc of reflective glass---no bigger than a coin.

"Make a wish," he said.

"In that case---"

"You said clean clothes, my pet, and that is what you must ask for. Say what you mean and mean what you say."

Sarah pouted visibly. "You sound just like _him_, you know. I should throw this piece of glass back at you and tell you to keep your damn wishes."

Loki tilted his head to the side with amusement painted into the very lines of his face. "You always use such elegant words. I wonder sometimes where you could have learned them."

Sarah wasn't amused. She turned almost dutifully and leaned against the well, staring down into the black abyss that opened instantly for her. She felt something change. Nothing dire, but staring into that deep, empty pool was like glancing at eternity. _An eternity of nothing. Death_. She shuddered silently.

But her mind was made and no foreboding ink-blackness was going to steer her away. She took a moment, no more, to chase the lingering sensation out. It clung like some stain, but slowly peeled back...leaving her smaller in her joy, huddled more into a solemn corner. She was no longer making a wish; she was defying some power. She could feel it now. Like a ribbon caught and flapping uselessly in the wind, had there been a wind. It was blind and unseeking, but every so often their paths crossed and it lashed out her. 

It was just then that she was beginning to recognize it. It wasn't the Middleground's current. That was steady, constant, _white noise_. No, this power was constant, but shifting. She would have called it magic, but it wasn't magic. She knew magic when she touched it. That was NOT it. It was like a nightmare---when you escaped into the waking world, into your imagined safety, only to realize that the dread had followed you back. That it was you all along. The power had lashed out at her, but it hadn't really touched her. It had danced momentarily over her skin and her own fear had rushed out to greet it, like an impatient lover.

Loki stepped up behind her and smoothed his hands over her shoulders. She was shuddering, she hadn't realized. She leaned into his touch because it was just that, a comfort. She had thought she understood the concept of 'friendship', but she was so wrong. No friend of hers could have ever touched her and not had her jerk away. Loki made it so easy. Made her want to believe so badly. He could have betrayed her at that moment and she wouldn't have done a thing to stop him. It hurt her to think that way: was she really that jaded? 

His hands smoothed like water across her shoulders and he drew her back against his breast. He was tall enough that his long, cool hair fell around his face and across her throat like a tickle of silk. When he spoke she felt his chest vibrate against her back, and she didn't mind. She welcomed it.

"It's gone," he whispered. "It's gone."

"What was it?" she whispered back, just a little embarrassed of the fear that trembled the edge of her voice. She was afraid of this, of giving into that thing that wanted someone to care for her. Somewhere along the line she had wrapped weakness around trust, and now they were nearly indistinguishable in her heart of hearts. She didn't want to trust the feelings that flowed between her and Loki and back again. She wanted to believe in them, she just didn't want to trust them.

"I do not know. I just know that it is gone." 

She closed her eyes and let her pain and confusion of the last few days sink away. She pulled Loki's warmth and concern around her and said, _I am safe here_. But, of course, the word 'safe' unraveled the frail spell. Distrust slipped in so softly that she didn't even see it for what it was at first. It said_, every emotion has a mirror; you've only seen one side of this one_.

Her eyes opened, she blinked, and it was as if hours had passed. The shadow of the well had shifted far across her and Loki as they huddled in and around each other. His arms were no longer about her shoulders, but around her waist and her hands pressed gently against his as if urging him not to shift, not to change a thing. Moments had passed behind her eyes, but somehow hours had passed outside of them. Had they passed? Had they really stood there that long?

It was Loki that stepped back, reluctantly, hands trailing over her waist until they dropped away completely. "I don't know how I can make you believe it, but trust this, Sarah: I would risk my own sanity to keep you safe."

__

He had said sanity. A loss of sanity was worse than death to her. How had he known that? She turned suddenly, swept up his hand between both of hers and almost bowed over it, she was so overcome. "Loki-Loki, I know...**_I know_**. I may not believe it, but I know."

He smiled. "Good." He slowly withdrew his hand, then cupped both of hers together, placing the circular piece of mirror in the middle so that light ran its edge in one dazzling line. He folded her fingers over it, raised her hands together and pressed a chaste kiss to each wrist. "Make a wish," he said. 

She smiled down at him, his eyes a bright gold spark burning through the silver of his hair. He was beautiful, beautiful in a rare, witchy kind of way...and suddenly she wanted to pet his hair as it fanned in loose layers around his face_. **It** wasn't a chaste thought_. If Loki hadn't released her hands that exact moment she would have jerked them free. She was glad he had let her go. She wanted the moment to remain unspoiled. At least, for him. 

She nodded to him and turned to the well, so thankful that she had a reason to. She didn't want him to see the unstable shimmer of tears in her eyes. It was confusion. If nothing else, confusion could make her cry. She could sit through so many personal failures, but confuse her, confuse her so that she could not determine the questions from the answers...

She leaned her lower body against the cool stones and peered down into the well, holding her hands cupped to her mouth as if she were going to warm them with her breath. But she kissed the catching glass, then let it slip between her fingers. It streaked down, a small falling star, until the blackness rushed up and swallowed it. She listened for the answer of the water, she stared down into that inky-hole, and waited, but all remained eerily silent. She realized that she hadn't made any wish at all. She smiled to herself. At least now she knew she would get exactly what she asked for.

She took no notice of the fog curling over the lip of the well, pouring low and heavy to the ground as if there was more to it than could be seen. It stroked across her ankles slow and cold, with almost the quality of fur. 

She glanced down with narrowing eyes, watched the grey, grey mist creep around her, caress against her. She looked curiously to Loki and the pale, ragged whirl seemed to move with the swing of her eyes. It poured around her, toward him, like a great rolling beast. With not the slightest stirring of wind it should not have been possible. But the grey fog rushed hungrily over his body, swallowed him, and she heard her name cut off from his lips before it had fully left them. She heard her own voice too thick against her own ears, as if echoing through water. She screamed, "NO!" And it sounded as fine and small as a whisper. A curtain of smoky glass seemed to glaze over her vision, and she stumbled those last few feet or so to where Loki should have been. But wasn't. 

She turned about, swinging her arms blindly away from her body, waving them, searching. The air around her only seemed to grow denser. 

The panic had come, filling her with a twitching adrenaline. She pressed forward, turned, turned, called for him. Then realized she didn't even know which way she was facing anymore. Her eyes were beginning to hurt from the stain of trying to see through the fog, as if merely her concentration could cut through it. No clarity came, but a strong headache thrummed to life. Strong enough to clench way down into her stomach, and she knew it wasn't just the headache making her nauseous.


	9. The Hunter In The Sky

(A.N.)--- *stands, bound, before the pitiless firing-squad*  

okay, okay.  this is so NOT 'timely'.  no excuses.  my bastard of a muse (my muse is a guy, wouldn't ya know) left me in my hour of need and i was too lazy to get up and drag his ass back.  but i finally set out some incense, sacrificed a few goats, and lured him back with my irresistible charm...okay, you got me---it's spring break.  anyway, he's here now and i'm back in business.  Yaayyyy!  *jumps up and down.  at least, as much as the ropes allow*  

this story has really got a mind of its own, and i'm just the tool.  i'm kind of amazed at how it keeps on morphing.  i like the speculations, though i won't confirm or deny (what would be the fun in that? ^_~).  i have an end, believe me, but Sarah isn't ready for it yet.  i know that sounds odd, but i believe _The Labyrinth was about change, and that's what i'm trying to create here.  She's changing, but not enough.  not for what i have planned for her.  not yet.  some things change over night, but not this.  i guess what i'm trying to say is thank you, to those of you who have been patient with this story, and me.  i'm getting there, even if i am taking the scenic route.  ^_^_

_a place between sleep and awake/end of innocence, unending masquerade/that's where i'll wait for you./hold me near you/so close i sear you/seeing, believing/dreaming, deceiving...~ Nightwish (Sleepwalker)_

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Chapter Nine: The Hunter in the Sky

Night and day ceased to exist within the fog's cool embrace.  She wandered, knowing each step was a danger, an unknown, where the ground could part or simply fall away.  Her path, undirected as it was, never changed.  She had expected to stumble over 'kings and queens,' all those gold-dotted trees, but nothing ever broke her movements, save her own uncertainty.  When the fog lifted, if it ever lifted, would she recognize her surroundings?  Would she be anywhere at all?  _Best not to think about it, best to keep moving.  Even though she knew that was very much a lie.  A more intelligent creature would never have put herself in this situation._

"Damn it!" she screamed, though the fog swallowed enough of it that all she could hear was a dry echo in her ear.  The ground, for all its shifty greyness, was solid as she threw herself upon its mercy, pounding her fists until she felt the first trickle of blood between her fingers.  She collapsed forward, propped upon her elbows and breathing heavily, sucking in mouthful after mouthful of the odorless mist.  Though 'mist' was hardly the word---'fur' seemed more appropriate to the fog that pressed against her body with an almost substantial brush.  _Surely not.__  Surely she was imaging that.  _

"Now that I'm done with my tantrum..."  She folded her arms and rested her chin upon them, nonchalant as her feet began to kick back and forth.  Back and forth.  She rolled sharply over onto her back and coiled her hands over her stomach.  Her once proud shirt was coarse and scratchy against her skin.  

"My soul for some clean clothes," came her breathy whisper, followed by a low tittering giggle.  She stopped abruptly, pressing her hands over her mouth.  Was that horrible sound really coming out of her?  She pushed the heels of her palms into her eyes until the dark was chased with electric-blue, sighed.  This really isn't fair, she thought, then began giggling again.

* * *

The fog was gone when she opened her eyes.  She stared up at a black-silk sky and could count the blinking stars in Orion's belt.  There were more stars, less sky---the edge of her vision flashed on something glistening and close, and her head turned almost of its own accord---pulled, pulled by what her eyes couldn't make sense of.  Bone crossed over the heavens, bleached with the wash of wind and time.  Her gaze traced the graying band to its curve, moonlight raking it in an almost harsh and brittle line.  The next was no softer.  Nor the next.  

A ribcage.  And there, the backbone rising and curving above her.  She knew the points of the ribs would be sharp beneathe that black sand.  And it was so close.  She reached a hand in an almost surreal sweep and the very tips of her fingers grazed the bone.  The touch was real, a dry and thirsty thing that sent a tingle of shock up her nerves.  The moonlight poured down her skin like silver water and she had to fight her breath a moment just to think.  

Movement caught her and her eyes swung to her left.  Whispering from one of the ribs, nearer to the backbone was a sash that spilled on the wind like the reddest blood.  Its colour should have been mute in the dim moon, but it was bright.  Technicolour against the chiaroscuro, and glittering so softly on the wind.  And the wind, pulling at her hair with cool caress...After so many days in its absence---it was a boon, a gift, a blessing.  Something to wrap around the weariness that had seemed to thread through every fiber of her being.  

Her eyes fell down the same line of smooth bone and paused.  Nearer where the sand swallowed the bone was a tight loop of a knot, a ragged rope that dipped and swung against the breeze.  It tied a boat, anchored it to the spot as if the black sand that pressed against its bottom was actually water that could and would carry it off if nothing held it stationary.  Even then it seemed in wait of movement, like she could untie the knot and send the vessel sailing over a sea of ebony sand.  The boat itself was oddly shaped, a crescent, but softer in its curves, much like a canoe, but bigger, stronger.  One end, the farthest, curled up some, and she knew, if she could see it from the side, that it might resemble more a hook rather than a crescent.  The darkness stole some of its colour, but she could see that it was rich and vibrant, not weathered like the bone that surrounded her.  Running along the rim, from end to end, were three bars of colour.  Her guess was blue and green, and maybe red.  It had an exotic air to it.  _Something...something not American.  Not European.  She couldn't place it._

What was the use to that?  A boat moored in the desert?  And the bone she was just now recognizing as the cage it was?  She wrapped her fingers around one rib and it was strong and solid, not brittle at all.  To leave such a carcass the animal that had died, if that was what it was, must have been huge.  Big enough to swallow her whole.  But, odd enough, she wasn't frightened.  She was calm with a clarity that made the breeze smell of freshly budded peonies and honeysuckle.  And she knew what it meant even before she could think it out in her head.  

There was an answering spark in the distance, like light tracing the edges of a mirror.  Miles away, it had to be miles away.  So distant that it wasn't real yet.  Unconcerned, she turned and the bone pressed between her shoulder-blades.  She leaned lightly against it, trying to reach beyond the clarity to an emotion that was more suited.  Fear seemed more suited, but it just wasn't there.  

Not yet not yet.

There was a flash of light at her back and she whirled, almost instantaneously.  She was surprised to find her body tight with the willingness to fight, like a first instinct.  That was new and not entirely pleasant.  Her heart seemed to be squeezed down into a space far too small for it, it strained against that closeness and she realized it was her.  The spark she had witnessed so many miles away was at the edge of the boat, and it wasn't a spark at all, but the Goblin King's pendant.  Her startled glare climbed up to his face, not mistaking the dry humour to his mouth.  His eyes were very warm and very pleased; there was something about her surprise that he liked.  When she could she saw that he held in his left hand some sort of lantern with a swirling point of blue brilliance.  It gave a faint glow, a shadow of light that left his face cool, a contrast to the amused heat in his eyes.  He was all black leather and lace, his hair leeched of colour so that it was no more than a pale halo rather than a gold crown.  Black suited him well.  

He placed the lantern upon the edge of the boat and the bars _were blue, green, and red.  Just as she had thought.  He stared at the bands of colour as the wind came and pulled at the long, wild strands of his hair.  _

"I thought you might like a little light," he said softly, but there was something insincere in his tone.

"Thanks," she replied carefully, and he smiled.

The silence stretched.  And she could almost feel it pulling between them like something that might snap and fly back at her, a rubber band stretched too thin.  The desert was cold around her, and she knew it wasn't right.  A real desert was full of life and activity, scurrying creatures and flapping wings.  The black sand spread around her in every direction, an endless horizon.  No rocks, no cactus-flowers, nothing broke its surface for as far as she could see.  Except them.  She felt isolated, to say the least.  Cut out of existence.  She was actually grateful for his presence.

"Do you see those stars up there," she asked quietly, leaning her forehead against the bone.  The glittering red material continued to spill and twist on the wind, it was becoming a distraction.  She watched as his face tilted upward.

"Orion?"

"Orion, yes."  She nodded slowly.  "My favourite constellation.  The Hunter of the night sky."

"It is the constellation of Kings."

She just stared at him.  Not certain of what emotion she conveyed.  But, whatever it was, it inspired him.  

"Seriously."  He waved at the boat on its still waves of sand.  "When a King dies it is said that he sails the sky to Orion, where he rules for eternity...'Sail thou the sky,'" he spoke clearly, "'Sail thou with the Imperishable Stars.'"  He had been gazing up at the sky, eyes out of focus with some internal story.  But that story seemed to shatter on his laugh.  He looked back to her and said, "Or so I've been told."

She shook her head, not seeing the amusement in his words.  But she did grin at him suddenly, "Are you certain these dead kings don't become trees?"

"What?" confusion, and was that indignation in his voice?

She threw her head back and laughed, and the sound was empty and small, out of place between the grey bone and the coal-black sand.  He stared at her for one hard moment, and it was such an odd look, as if he didn't know quite what to make of her.  The look pleased her; the determination that followed it did not.

"Enjoying yourself, are you?"  He stepped closer and traced a gloved finger down one rib, as if he could feel it through the leather.  "In there."

"Did you put me here?"

He smiled and his hand slid up until it was about level with his face.  He leaned into the bone and rested his forehead against his hand, rolled it a little so he could stare directly into her eyes.  "If I were going to put you somewhere, Sarah, I..." his voice trailed off, not because he was having trouble with his words, but because he seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say.  He hid his eyes against his glove and grinned at himself silently.

"In an oubliette?"  Something in her didn't want to know.  Didn't want to think of how terrible and creative he could be.  But it wasn't important.  She was almost certain that whatever vision he found so amusing was nothing she was going to like.

"Oh, no," he whispered.  Then, to her confusion, he started to laugh, just a soft sound that should have been lost on the wind.

"Well...where?"

He just shook his head back and forth, back and forth, like he couldn't think of anything else to do.

He wasn't going to tell her, and she was beginning to worry about the fact that he seemed to be hiding his eyes against his hand.  As if there was something there he didn't want her to see.  

So, it was time to shift gears again, and quickly.  "Is there anything you can tell me about the Middleground?  Anything that might help me?"

He glanced at her, and his eyes were as normal as they ever got.  Light and dark, warm and cold.  "I've told you enough, Sarah.  All that I can without breaking the rules."

She hugged her arms across her stomach and wished it wasn't so cold.  Wished she didn't feel so bitter.  "And here I thought you didn't give a damn about breaking rules.  I mean, you did tell me I had thirteen hours, but for some reason it felt more like nine..."

"I won't break these rules," he stated emotionlessly.  He didn't seem to like where she was going with the conversation.  And that was okay, because she didn't like where she was at.  For a few minutes at a time Sarah could forget their past, forget how he had played with and manipulated her.  Those moments never lasted long.  

"You won't help me?"  And at the same time her tone was saying, 'well, isn't that just. like. _you.'_

He straightened against the bone, no longer a picture of nonchalance, but something serious, and deadly.  "I have helped you."

"Sure."

"I have."

She nodded and smiled, empty as a doll's black eyes.  She expected him to play her game, and, to her shame, she was actually looking forward to going a round or two with him.  But his eyes snapped narrow.  Instant anger.

"Have it your way."  He almost turned, almost walked away.

"No!" she gasped, realizing she was pressing herself against the bars and reaching through, one hand suspended in the air.  She vaguely remembered launching herself forward.  She knew she looked desperate, she knew her voice was high and pleading...but she couldn't care yet.  She didn't want to be alone.  She didn't want to return to that thick fog that she knew was waiting for her on the other side of her consciousness.  So she stretched her hand out to him, not reaching---imploring, and whispered, "Please don't go."

That got him.  He froze right in his steps and turned back, just a little surprised.  No, it wasn't a little.  His eyes fell on that hand and she almost jerked it back, but didn't.  It would have been a pointless gesture anyway.

When he looked back up to her his eyes were empty, waiting.  The wind fluttered the lace at his throat, whipped at his hair, but he remained unmoved.

She didn't know what to say, but she had to give him a reason for stopping him.  Something he would believe, something she could get away with.  "You have helped me.  I'm sorry."  She couldn't look at him while she said it.  It wasn't guilt, but it must have looked like it to him.  It was anger at having to say such a thing, anger because she knew it would amuse him.  She dropped her hand and as it fell it brushed against something cool.  Her eyes shot up.  He had grasped her hand in both of his.

"Apology accepted," there was amusement in his voice, but it wasn't his usual mocking bite of sound.  It wasn't completely unfamiliar though.  She studied his face to find that edge of trickery and just couldn't see it.  But if he wanted to be friendly...

"Can you get me out of here?" she asked quietly.

His head tilted to the side and he genuinely seemed to think about it for a moment.  She saw the answer flash in his eyes, and it pleased him.  "Perhaps," he said, "if you kiss me."

She had a sudden urge to jerk her hand free, but couldn't seem to move.  "What?  I mean, NO!"

He shrugged like it didn't much matter to him anyway.  "I guess you will just have to stay there then."  

She expected this of him, she so did, but he still managed to piss her off.  She straightened with the indignation, then slumped, the outrage draining away and leaving her almost numb in its place.  She wanted free and he knew it.  He had kissed her before and that somehow made it not such a big deal if he kissed her again.  _You don't really believe that, do you?_

She looked up and watched his smile curve even more.  He knew she was going to give in.  

So much for being friendly, she thought distantly, sliding her hand out of his and wrapping both around a bar.  She was anchoring herself and she knew it, holding onto the cold, hard reality of the bone.  

"Do it," she hissed at him, "let's get this over with."  If he didn't like the bitter antipathy in her voice, he didn't show it.  She closed her eyes so she didn't have to see anymore and waited, not letting herself think about what was coming.  Kissing your adversary didn't seem right in any circumstances.

She didn't have to wait long.  She felt the smoothness of his glove slide over the lines of her jaw, startlingly cold and real, and sucked in an involuntary breath.  She pressed herself closer to the bone but didn't move away.  It was an effort not to look, not to shrink back from his touch.  It wasn't so unpleasant, that wasn't the problem.  No, the problem was his methods.  She felt a surge of anger wash through her just as his lips touched hers.

Chaste.  That's the word that came to mind.  Part of her was reeling in surprise because that soft brush was not what she had prepared for.  He cradled her face between his hands, not caressing, simply holding, and she realized he was trying to indirectly will her to move against him.  And when she wouldn't...he bit lightly at her lower lip.  That was too much, beyond where she was willing to go.  She threw herself back, but not far.  His hands tangled in the long, ebony-brown strands of her hair before she could get enough leverage, and the pain froze her in her flight.  She cried out as he jerked her back to him by her hair, winding it around his hands until she was effectively caught.  Then he kissed her again---and gentleness, chastity, was a distant dream.  The bruising press of his mouth was a reality, something full and dangerous.  Something to avoid and fight.  And she tried, pushing her palms furiously into his chest, clawing at his hands to free her hair.  But struggling only brought her pain, little hurt-noises that crawled out of her throat independent of her.  

She clenched her teeth tight to deny him that last bit of herself and he didn't seem to like it at all.  His teeth sank into her already tender lip, harder and harder, until she acquiesced with a small whimper.  She let him inside.  And that was the mistake.  She should have made him chew through her lip and never yielded...because he fell upon her in one swoop, possessed her mouth with a ferocity that was almost terrifying in its violence, leaving her dazed and crashing in its wake.  She was bowed at the middle, one hand steadying her against the bone, when she finally realized it was over and he had released her.  The fact seemed secondary, and she couldn't focus on it just as she couldn't seem to get her eyes to focus either.  

When she did finally see him his arms were folded and he was well out of her reach.  Something in her was giddy at the thought that he felt threatened by her and had acted accordingly.  But that _something wasn't important.  Important was getting rid of the tingle in her bruised lips that was actually starting to feel good._

She wiped her hand well and thoroughly across her mouth, making sure his eyes followed, making sure the gesture displayed all the disgust she wanted him to see.  She knew her glare was jagged; she wanted it to cut him.  But he returned her stare, blankly, before appearing to decide on an emotion.  He smirked.

"You've had your fun," she panted, "now let me out."

"No."

She straightened, dark eyes cold with disbelief.  "What?  But I kissed you!"

"Yes, you did."

She approached the bone, quietly contained, because what she really wanted to do was jump up and down and hurl horrible curses at him.  But ranting and waving her arms like a madwoman lacked a certain amount of dignity.  She had to settle for the next best thing.  "You promised."

"I said I might let you out, but I've changed my mind," he replied haughtily.

"You!" she shrieked.  In the next instant all hell had broken loose within her and she was flinging handful after handful of ebony-sand at him.  The voracious wind caught the glinting particles and scattered them in every direction, but his.  She wasn't really trying to hit him, though she seriously wanted to.

He grinned that canary-eating grin of his and bowed low, one arm stretched out at his side.  "Me," was all he said.

She stopped short and his face sobered instantly.  "What is it?"

She uncurled her fist and let the black sand crumble between her fingers, light streaking through it like powder-fine glass.  Her palm was decorated with tiny cuts, not serious, but deep enough that they oozed blood, and it was dark in the moonlight.  He stepped closer and she held her hand away from her as if it was something foreign and not all-together friendly.

"It cut me," she whispered dazedly.

"Let me see," he said, reaching through the bars for her wounded hand.

"No!" she snapped rather frantically, jerking back out of his reach.  He froze in mid-motion.

"Sarah...let me help you."

She stared at him and her eyes were wide, not exactly with anger, but it wasn't surprise either.  She shook her head hesitantly, once left, once right.  

"You will carry your wounds back with you," he reasoned, his eyes betraying just a touch of confusion, like an edge of darker colour tracing his pupil.

"Then I will."

He reached for her hand again, but she took another step back, cradling it protectively to her breast.  It seeped blood onto her pristine shirt, a spot of imperfection screaming amongst all the white.  She didn't seem to notice.

He stared at her and she stared back, and there eyes fought though the exact reason why was unclear.  Finally, he looked away.  "Keep them then, but here," he grasped the lace at his left wrist and ripped it off in one harsh movement, "bind it to stop some of the bleeding."  He held the strip of black cloth out to her without moving any closer, or making any gesture that could be mistaken as 'threatening'.

She took it hesitantly, but stared across at him.  "You know I cannot tie it with one hand..."

"I can tie it.  That is, if you let me?"

She studied him a moment, then nodded.  But her eyes were very intent on his movements as he took the makeshift bandage and wound it thrice around her ruined palm.  He then turned her hand over and knotted it across the back, tightening it until she gasped sharply with pain.  The gasp seemed to be some signal that all was correctly in place; he stepped back and let his hands fall limply to his sides.  His ripped sleeve hung oddly, and it reminded her of how her own clothes had suffered at the vouivre's claws.  What would the Goblin King think of that one?  _Best not to find out.  _

"Thanks," she remarked coolly, drawing her hand back to her breast.  The cloth irritated the minor cuts and made them sting, but if it would make him drop trying to _help her...she could stand a little pain.  In fact, she more than welcomed it.  It felt very real, and reality was exactly what she needed._

"You could tell me why."

"Why what?" she asked with a lilt to her voice that was almost too high.  Playing ignorant was not one of her strong suits.

"Why you want to hurt yourself."

"I don't want to hurt myself."

"Fine.  Why do you want to keep the pain when you can be free of it?"

"Maybe I don't understand why _you want to help."_

"You never understand, but it is something I have come to expect," he smiled, though there was no true humour to it.  In fact, his stance was very rigid and guarded.

"I don't trust you," she said, and she hadn't planned on those particular words coming out of her mouth.  But they did, biting with accusation.

"Nor should you, but that is an entirely different subject.  What has happened, Sarah?  And don't try to feed me another line---you don't have my trust, either."

"When I want to share, I will," she snapped.  He could be so condescending in his tone!  So damn condescending!  She dug her nails into the cloth wrapped tight around her hand, and felt a sharp stitch of pain answer.  For some reason it was almost soothing.  Almost.  "Look!  I don't want the pain, but I don't want to be indebted to you either.  I'm taking the lesser of the two evils."

He wasn't buying it, and she knew it.  His fingers tapped with irritation for one long moment as he stared at her.  But he sighed and uncrossed his arms.  "Give me your hand and we'll call it a truce.  You will owe me nothing."

"Get me out of this cage and we'll call it a truce," she said.

"I can't."

"You mean 'won't'."

"No.  I mean I cannot get you out, even with magic." He glanced around and the look was nearly eloquent.  "Very little of my magic works here anyway."

"And you knew about this before..."  Before what?  That wasn't a kiss...she wasn't even sure what to call it.  

He grinned, not needing her to finish.  "Of course."

"Oh!  You are so _horrible!"_

"When 'horrible' serves my purposes, yes.---"

"How does healing my hand serve your 'purposes'?" she cut in.

He shrugged.

"What happens if I make it through the Middleground?"  When.  She had meant to say 'when' and not 'if'.  She didn't like how unsteady her faith was becoming in herself.

"Why, you make it through," he replied nonchalantly, picking up the lamp with its swirl of blue light.  It didn't look like flame held within the glass.  It looked like something alive, something frantic to be free.  Its very struggle seemed to create light.  The same light that illuminated the Goblin King's face, and gave it some otherworldly glow.  She didn't want the light anymore; she wanted him to let whatever it was inside go.

"How does my outcome affect you?  You would have washed your hands of me long ago if it didn't."

She had startled him.  He placed the lantern back down and turned to her with eyes that were just a little wide.  And a little weary.  He hadn't expected her to come to that conclusion.  She saw herself grow-up in his eyes just a touch.  But not enough, not enough by far.

"I am your patron," he whispered, "I opened the door.  Your loss reflects on me."

"And if I don't lose?"

"I must reward you," he glanced away as he spoke.  He didn't seem to be comfortable with their conversation anymore.

"How?"

"Anything you want, but only _one thing.  And there are limitations."_

"I get a wish," she translated, "that you _must grant.  I could ask for your kingdom and you would have to give it to me."  She watched his eyes narrow, but not with anger.  For once he was the one trying to read how much honesty was in her voice.  It didn't please her; she had no desire to trick him.  Some sort of reprisal for all that he had done, maybe, but something up-front.  Something not bought with deceit.  _

"That would not be wise."

"But you would have to turn it over to me, wouldn't you?"

He paused, then, "Yes."

"Then it seems to me that you gain nothing from helping me.  I don't think you would mind a little tarnish to your reputation.  So what is it?"  For some reason that question seemed to comfort him.  He relaxed and even smiled somewhat.

"I am trying to be fair---"

"That aids me and not you.  I ask again, what do you get out of it?  And don't claim fairness, I do not believe you."

"Maybe I get to be something besides the villain.  I am not your enemy here."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

"In the Middleground I have no enemies, things just are.  At most, I am my own enemy.  I don't need you to be the villain.  I can do it well enough on my own."  That look again.  It was beginning to bother her and she didn't know why.  "Why are you giving me answers now, when you wouldn't before?"

"You are asking the right questions."  

_Oh, is that all.  "You haven't told me what you get out of all this."_

"No, I haven't."

"Well?"

He smiled, his head dipping forward slightly, "When I want to share, I will.  Until then..."  He spread his hands wide.


End file.
